#as sick or miserable as i get listening to color your with headphones and going on with what i'm doing will never not be relaxing

[skippingseaglass]

i have at least 4 hours total in my persona 3 reload save wasted singing color your night past 10 pm but like i was enjoying myself so guess that's the point of it all huh

#as sick or miserable as i get listening to color your with headphones and going on with what i'm doing will never not be relaxing #healing power of music or whatever but god damn #this song has somehow made living in this house a little bit easier #i hope i can make music that can do that someday #probably not but i'll try if i can! #i love sort of mimicking the fondness in the singer's voice near the end #usually i think about somebody i care about when i sing it so maybe thats why too #maybe tumblr will hear me sing one day who knows

[littlekatleaf]

Be still my indelible friend (Overwatch)

So this is inspired by the “Love Triangle” scenario @lovely-starry-universe​ shared. (sorry it’s not TMA, @beaugtifuw​ but maybe consider it as an alternative to death?) This is also separate from my other fics.

Be still my indelible friend, you are unbreaking Though quaking, though crazy That’s just wasteland, baby ~ Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!” Roadhog wanted to rub his eyes, aching behind his mask. He felt like he was going to sneeze, but his head throbbed and sneezing would make it worse. He really wanted to disappear into his quarters and sleep whatever this was off, without the mask so he could sneeze as necessary and blow his nose. Unfortunately he was stuck here, trying to keep Junkrat from noticing he was getting sick. 

Junkrat always noticed, even if he was in the middle of working something up for Torbjörn, or messing with one of Lena’s pulse bombs. Could be completely immersed in his work, muttering about whatever crossed his mind as he pieced things together, but the minute Roadhog started feeling off, sometimes before he actually registered the sensation in his own body, Junkrat would be there with tea or Kleenex or cough drops. Whatever Roadhog might need. Or want. No matter how many times Roadhog told him to stop - didn’t need coddling - Junkrat just shrugged and kept on. Irritating. Not a sook and rankled that Junkrat thought he was. 

Reckoned the Rat had a point, though. Hard to intimidate when one was constantly sniffling. Like he was doing right now. Just about to get up and find his own tissues when footsteps clanked down the passage outside the door and Junkrat finally looked up from his wires. Not at him, though. At the man currently leaning in the doorway.

“Oi, Lucio! Welcome back, mate. How’d it go,” Junkrat asked.

Lucio gusted a sigh. “Horrible. She’s gonna be gone for months, and as a goodbye gift she gave me her cold.”

Junkrat laughed, but not meanly. “Now that ain’t fair.” He crossed the room and pressed his hand to Lucio’s forehead. “Might be warm.”

“Eh, no big. Just feel a little under… the… weather.” His voice wavered up on the word and suddenly he pitched forward. “Hitchoo! I’tchoo!” 

“Bless ya, mate.” Junkrat tossed him a box of tissues from under a pile of detritus.

“Oh, thanks, man.” Lucio shook his head at himself. “Could’ve been a disaster.” 

“Who takes care of the medic when the medic’s feelin’ crook?”

 Lucio pulled a tragic face, but was clearly trying not to grin.  “No one, now that Hana’s away.”

“That ain’t right. Patched me up often enough, right Roadie? Only fair if I do the same. C’mere; sit.” He steered Lucio to the other side of the couch, put a blanket around his shoulders. Then he began to fill, not the kettle for tea, but the coffee pot. Lucio liked coffee. Roadhog didn’t.

 As the coffee brewed, Junkrat asked Lucio about the trip to Busan. 

Lucio made a so-so gesture. “Meeting the parents was okay - they didn’t hate me. Maybe. But Dae-hyun’s another story. I’m surprised he didn’t try to poison my soda.”

“But you’re the dead nicest person I ever met. Can’t imagine you were rude. What’d ya do?”

“He thinks it’s my fault Hana won’t be more than his friend.”

“An’ it ain’t?”

“Nah, she sees him like a brother. Anyway, we’re open. If she wanted to be with him, it’d be fine with me.”

“Huh,” Junkrat made a considering noise and Roadhog caught him looking at Lucio with an unreadable expression. Which was weird - Junkrat usually had the opposite of a poker face. Made playing cards against him profitable.

When Lucio’s voice went hoarse, Junkrat took over the conversation, making his usual terrible jokes. Going into far too much detail about the modification to Torb’s turret he was working on. Nattering. 

And Roadhog realized he was going to sneeze. Hated doing it with the mask; small as the sneezes were, still felt fucking gross. Hated more doing it with an audience. Too many comments over the years about ‘big guy, tiny sneeze’ ha ha ha fucking hilarious. Ducked his head, tried holding his breath and kept it tightly contained to just a shudder.

No one responded. Thank fuck.

Felt odd, though. Unsettled. Maybe he was getting a fever? But he didn’t have that bone deep ache yet. Just felt… not right.

The day wore on. At some point Lucio switched from coffee to orange juice. His voice was barely more than a croak. Junkrat teased him about sounding like a frog and instead of biting his head off, like Roadhog would have - well deserved, in his opinion - Lucio just laughed and pretended to eat a fly. Roadhog rolled his eyes. Immature. Both of them. 

Lucio shivered, just once, and Junkrat dug his own scarf out of another pile of random crap and wrapped it carefully around Lucio’s neck, the orange and yellow stripes shining bright against his dark skin.

“Thanks, man,” Lucio said, sincerely, a flush rising up his neck. Fever? Or something else? He put his hand on Junkrat’s arm, and Rat covered it with his own. Roadhog looked away.

Every single time Lucio sneezed, Junkrat blessed him. And at each blessing, Lucio said thanks. He didn’t get irritated, he didn’t snap or growl. He just kept Junkrat cheerful company, laughing at Rat’s jokes (even, or maybe especially, the terrible ones), making listening noises in response to his endless stories, face nuzzled down in Junkrat’s scarf. 

Finally, Junkrat noticed his head nodding forward, eyes drooping closed. “Why’nt you head to bed, mate? Ain’t gotta keep us entertained.”

Lucio yawned, stretched. “Sorry. Just exhausted suddenly. I was going to stop by the mess hall for some food first, but…” He sneezed suddenly, ducking into the scarf. “Oops! Shit. I’ll wash it before I give it back, I promise.”

“Bless ya. No worries.” Junkrat shrugged. “Saw Mei cooking some of her chicken noodle soup earlier. I’ll bring you a bowl.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Junkrat. If Mercy caught me anywhere near the mess with this cold I wouldn't have to worry about being sick for very long.”

Junkrat mimed a shudder. “Too right. Sheila only looks sweet and innocent.”

“Thanks again.” Lucio tossed a wave over his shoulder as he sauntered out. “See ya, Roadhog.”

Junkrat whistled tunelessly as he cleaned up his workbench. Roadhog struggled against another sneeze. He tried to ignore it, to think of something else, but the tickle was insistent. Fuck it. He ducked his head, sneezed once, then again. Junkrat’s whistle didn’t falter. Was focused, maybe, on what he was doing. Roadhog tried to breathe carefully, but his nose wanted to drip so he sniffed, and then he needed to sneeze again.  An annoying as shit self-perpetuating cycle. 

He glanced around the room for the box of tissues. Apparently Lucio’d taken it with him. Of fucking course. “Junkrat. Gonna head up to my quarters for a bit.” Maybe he’d be focused enough not to ask…

“Ya ain’t hungry? ‘S well past lunch. Don’t think I’ve ever heard ya turn down a meal, ‘specially when Mei’s cooking.”

Roadhog wanted to groan, but kept it to a sigh. “No, yeah. Let’s go.” He was a little hungry. He’d pick up a bowl of soup in the mess hall and when Junkrat made his delivery to Lucio he could slip off. Soup would help, and maybe then he could get sleep. Or at least a little peace and quiet.

Luckily no one was in the mess hall when they stopped by, so it was a shorter trip than if Junkrat’d had someone to talk at. Just filled their bowls and, balancing his own and Lucio’s because sometimes Rat’s mech hand had trouble with the porcelain, followed Rat to Lucio’s quarters. Shit - his nose wanted to drip. Sniffed against it, which triggered an urge to sneeze. With his hands full of soup. Balls. Couldn’t even get Junkrat’s attention, any attempt to talk and he’d lose the tenuous control he clung to. 

A breath, another breath… only a few more steps until he could hand off the bowl… and he realized he wasn’t going to make it. Stopped and braced for it and “Ht’nxxt!  Ngxxt! …. Ht’nxxt!” Let his breath out carefully. It felt like he’d exploded his sinuses, but at least he didn’t spill scalding liquid over his hands. Small mercy. Junkrat was already knocking at Lucio’s door, a rhythmic tapping that wasn’t like his usual fist at Roadhog’s door.

Lucio opened the door and a soft tune wafted out like smoke. He’d clearly been working on some new music. A pair of headphones was around his neck. He’d changed from his travel clothes into a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized sweatshirt with two laughing gingerbread men that said, “Let’s get baked.” 

“Thanks, guys. Appreciate it.” He seemed to notice Roadhog staring and glanced down, then chuckled. “It’s from Hana,” he said, as if that explained everything.  “I’d invite you in, but I’m probably contagious.”

“Ah, no need to sit around all by your lonesome, sick an’ miserable. I never get sick. And Roadie’s already got it. He’s been sneezing all day.” Junkrat waved a hand at Roadhog dismissively. 

“Oh, sorry Roadhog! I didn’t know you were sick.”

“Ain’t nothing,” he mumbled. So Junkrat knew? And hadn’t said anything? Hadn’t even blessed him once? What the hell? 

Lucio stepped back to let them in and, with no idea how to bow out gracefully, Roadhog followed. The room was dark, lit only by a few strings of colorful fairy lights. Lucio’d made himself a nest on the couch, pillows and blankets and his laptop. His sound system sent out a low bass beat, overlaid with electronic melody and a voice that sounded almost like Hana, singing something he couldn't make out. In the corner of the room was an altar with a buddha statue and a candle lit in front. He let Junkrat take the spot next to Lucio on the couch, and sat on an arm chair across from them. It was a surprisingly welcoming space and Roadhog found himself relaxing, almost against his will. 

Junkrat made himself useful, cleaning up the dishes when they’d finished eating. Making sure Lucio was comfortable, that he had a glass of water and tissues in easy reach. When Lucio yawned, Junkrat pulled him close, to lean against his shoulder. He launched into some ridiculous, and likely embellished, story about a heist he’d pulled on the Queen of Junkertown sometime in the years before he and Roadhog started working together. Lucio made impressed noises, egging him on, and each story got less likely than the last. 

And then Lucio turned away from Junkrat, sneezing again. “Hitchoo! I’tchoo! Ugh, excuse me. I’m so gross.” He blew his nose.

“Bless ya. And no ya ain’t. Least ya got a normal sneeze, not like me. I sneeze like a bomb going off.” Junkrat tugged him close again and Lucio relaxed against his side, laughing.

“It’s true, though. An’ apparently size don’t matter in these things ‘cause Roadie sneezes like a kitten.”

Roadhog felt himself going red under the mask. He really, really did not want to be having this conversation. Not with Lucio, and not with the tickle that was building again. “Could you not make fun of me for five fucking minutes? Damn, Junkrat.”

“Don’t be such a touchy bastard. Ya know I don’t mean nothing by it.”

He wanted to keep arguing, to cuss Junkrat out for being such an asshole, especially while he was just as sick as Lucio, but part of him wondered whether he might, actually, be overreacting. Worse, he was pretty sure he was going to sneeze. He raised a wrist to the nose of his mask, like that was somehow going to help, but the tickle was too strong to  be contained. “Huh… chu! Chu! Chu!” Kept his head down when he finished because Junkrat was right, he did sneeze like a fucking kitten and he hated it. Hated that Junkrat teased him about it, hated that Lucio was there to hear it, hated that he hadn’t just gone to his quarters before Lucio ever got back from Busan.

“Bless you, Roadhog,” Lucio said after a couple beats of silence. And that just made it worse. Lucio blessing him, not Junkrat. 

The cold must be fucking him up more than he thought, because everything just felt like shit suddenly. His head hurt and his body hurt and his eyes hurt. He needed to blow his nose but then he’d have to take off his mask and Lucio would see all the fucking scars and he’d ask too many questions because he wouldn’t know not to and what could he possibly say? And Junkrat was ignoring him and paying attention to Lucio and he fucking hated that and he didn’t know why it bothered him so much and he didn’t want it to bother him, but it did, bothered him like a blister his boot kept rubbing over and over. Irritating and painful and it was just one more thing on top of everything and he hated it. Because Junkrat was his friend first. Was his first… but Lucio was so much nicer about everything. So much kinder and softer and not at all an asshole.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and he realized he’d been shaking, just a little. “Ya okay, Hoggie?” Junkrat’s voice was unusually soft, almost gentle.

“Fine,” he said, but the attempted sharpness was blunted with congestion and he coughed. And he didn’t push away Rat’s hand.

“No, ya ain’t.” Junkrat stood between Roadhog and Lucio, and carefully loosened the mask then lifted it away from his face, slow enough to be stopped. Roadhog didn’t. Then, just as carefully, Junkrat took a Kleenex and wiped Roadie’s eyes. Then his nose. Roadhog sighed and rested his forehead on Junkrat’s belly. “Hey, hey. What’s this, then? Thought ya didn’t want any attention when you’re sick.”

“Thought not, too,” he mumbled without moving. 

“Ya jealous.” There was the lilt of laughter in the words.

Roadhog shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Ya are!  Ain’t no reason for it! Might be mean as cat’s piss when yer sick, but it don’t matter. You’re my Hog, an’ that’s the way of it.”

 “But Lucio…”

“Reckon I can take care of ya both. Yeah?”

Roadhog nodded, and when Junkrat stepped aside, Roadhog kept the mask off and Lucio didn’t ask about the scars, or make any comment at all. He just smiled and offered a movie night and that was how they ended up sprawled across Lucio’s bed, Roadhog on one side, Lucio on the other and Junkrat between them, arms around them both. Sometime in the middle of the movie, they dozed off, warm and comfortable.

#oversnez #snezfic #look I managed a shortfic #Lucio's a good boi #Roadie's a grump #gotta torture someone other than Rat for a change #2am posting is the best posting

[timouke]

I mean I tried xD and I miserably failed

Get to know me tag!

OOOH THIS TOOK FOREVER

I was tagged by the wonderful and amazing @racingllama! Thanks a lot! This was a lot of fun!

RULES : Post a pic of your simself with your traits and answer the questions!

I think my traits would be: clumsy, dog lover, and geek!

I now tag @sweezlee, @coliemoon4sims4 @chimaerae @nadi-nadi @artemisa02 @newerquality @electricsoftie @caramellet @petitesimss @redyuyu @sailing-simmer @markslatina @blurri-sim-kid @ilovesaramoonkids and anyone who wants to do it!

1. WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME? Aidee

2. WHAT IS YOUR NICKNAME? Heidi, Pimpo, Bro, Loyis:)

3. BIRTHDAY? February 21!

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE BOOK SERIES? aNY. I love books. I love romance, action, comedy. Anything.

5. DO YOU BELIEVE IN ALIENS OR GHOSTS? None, but I do believe in alien ghosts.

6. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE AUTHOR? I’m gonna get killed for this but... Veronica Roth?

7. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE RADIO STATION? 99.9 I love Delilah

8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR OF ANYTHING? Sweetsweetsweetsweet

9. WHAT WORD WOULD YOU USE OFTEN TO DESCRIBE SOMETHING GREAT OR WONDERFUL? AmazeBALLS :D.

10. WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT FAVORITE SONG? Ehrm... that’s a hard one. Paper Crowns by Alec Benjamin

11. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE WORD? Doggo

12. WHAT WAS THE LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO? Paper Crowns by Alec Benjamin xD I’m I too predictable?

13. WHAT TV SHOW WOULD YOU RECOMMEND FOR EVERYBODY TO WATCH? Devilman Crybaby, don’t judge me!

14. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE TO WATCH WHEN YOU’RE FEELING DOWN? Nothing with dogs in it, or I cry

15. DO YOU PLAY VIDEO GAMES? Yep! I play Zelda and hORROR RPG’s

16. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR? (incoming cliche answer) being forgotten.

17. WHAT IS YOUR BEST QUALITY, IN YOUR OPINION? I can sense when people don’t have good intentions, that’s why I have almost no friends.

18. WHAT IS YOUR WORST QUALITY, IN YOUR OPINION? Read above answer!

19. DO YOU LIKE CATS OR DOGS BETTER? Cats.

20. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON? Winter because of Christmas and my Birthday!

21. ARE YOU IN A RELATIONSHIP? I am told to say no.

22. WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU MISS FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD? I could be days without showering without feeling guilty!

23. WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND? Loyis, but she’s in Germany right now. And I’m not, which is sad.

24. WHAT IS YOUR EYE COLOR? Brownish black? Blackish brown?

25. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR? I grabbed one hair and it was black, and I grabbed another one and it was brown, now my life is in shambles..

26. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU LOVE? LOYISSSS COME BACK TO MEEE

27. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU TRUST? EHEM. LOYIS COME BACK TO ME.

28. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU THINK ABOUT OFTEN? AHHHH *throws myself to the ground* (loyis)

29. ARE YOU CURRENTLY EXCITED ABOUT/FOR SOMETHING? Yep! Answering these questions!

30. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST OBSESSION? Sims, anime, my dogs. That’s my laifu.

31. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW AS A CHILD? I loved the shows everyone now considers bad, like Johnny Test or Kick Buttowski, but Dragon Ball Z was my childhood.

32. WHO OF THE OPPOSITE GENDER CAN YOU TELL ANYTHING TO, IF ANYONE? I’m not allowed to answer this question or I’ll cry

33. ARE YOU SUPERSTITIOUS? Only if my grandma is present. She makes everyone superstitious, she is a witch, in the good sense.

34. DO YOU HAVE ANY UNUSUAL PHOBIAS? I’m afraid of flushing the toilet. Don’t ask! Yes, I do flush the toilet.

35. DO YOU PREFER TO BE IN FRONT OF THE CAMERA OR BEHIND IT? Yes.

36. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE HOBBY? Anything in front of a computer.

37. WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ? The Psychoanalist by I don’t remember who, but his style is a little too slow and descriptive!

38. WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald. Now I’m in love with Newt. He’s mine now.

39. WHAT MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS DO YOU PLAY, IF ANY? None, but my brother is a musical prodigy so that’s something.

40. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ANIMAL? Not dogs.

41. WHAT ARE YOUR TOP 5 FAVORITE TUMBLR BLOGS THAT YOU FOLLOW? Everyone! Every single person in the sims community is super talented!

42. WHAT SUPERPOWER DO YOU WISH YOU HAD? I request mind reading.

43. WHEN AND WHERE DO YOU FEEL MOST AT PEACE? When I sleep, when I’m not thinking.

44. WHAT MAKES YOU SMILE? My doggos, specially all of them.

45. WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY, IF ANY? Ice skating but it hurts a ton

46. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DRINK? Milk

47. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A HAND-WRITTEN LETTER OR NOTE TO SOMEBODY? What’s that, “hand-written” you speak of?

48. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS? No, I am heights.

49. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE? Stupid people (me)

50. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO A CONCERT? Yep, it’s kinda like a tradition in my family to go to one every year!

51. ARE YOU VEGAN/VEGETARIAN? No.

52. WHEN YOU WERE LITTLE, WHAT DID YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GREW UP? A veterinarian, but I couldn’t!

53. WHAT FICTIONAL WORLD WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE IN? Whatever world Bleach is set in. I wanna marry Ichigo Kurosaki.

54. WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU WORRY ABOUT? Yep, everything everything everything

55. ARE YOU SCARED OF THE DARK? Nope, I am darkness

56. DO YOU LIKE TO SING? Sure, but I can’t, I sing like a sick cat.

57. HAVE YOU EVER SKIPPED SCHOOL? What’s that “school” you speak of?

58. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE ON THE PLANET? My room

59. WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE? In Japan! Anywhere in Japan! Just in Japan!

60. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? Yep! I have three fake huskies

61. ARE YOU MORE OF AN EARLY BIRD OR A NIGHT OWL? Both. I never sleep. What’s sleep?

62. DO YOU LIKE SUNRISES OR SUNSETS BETTER? Sunsets, I prefer nighttime!

63. DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE? Nope, I honestly should learn.

64. DO YOU PREFER EARBUDS OR HEADPHONES? Earbuds, they’re cute and tiny.

65. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES? Yep, I’m in fact wearing  them right now! How did you know?

66. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE GENRE OF MUSIC? Early 2000′s scene music.

67. WHO IS YOUR HERO? My dad

68. DO YOU READ COMIC BOOKS? Yep. All the time. I am a comic book

69. WHAT MAKES YOU THE MOST ANGRY? NOT FINISHING STUFF. I MUST FINISH THIS THING.

70. DO YOU PREFER TO READ ON AN ELECTRONIC DEVICE OR WITH A REAL BOOK? A real book! I like to hold them and the smell!

71. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? Recess

72. DO YOU HAVE ANY SIBLINGS? I have between 1 and 3 brothers

73. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT? A snack! It was yummy

74. HOW TALL ARE YOU? 1.55 inches.

75. CAN YOU COOK? Nope, who needs food anyways?

76. WHAT ARE THREE THINGS THAT YOU LOVE? My dogs, my life and myself!

77. WHAT ARE THREE THINGS THAT YOU HATE? My dogs, my life and myself!:)

78. DO YOU HAVE MORE FEMALE FRIENDS OR MORE MALE FRIENDS? I don’t know, I haven’t counted them!

79. WHAT IS YOUR SEXUAL ORIENTATION? Who needs labels?

80. WHERE DO YOU CURRENTLY LIVE? Juarez, Chihuahua. You’ll never find it.

81. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TEXTED? The love of my life!

82. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Right now. I’m crying right now.

83. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE YOUTUBER? Joanna Cedia. I stan.

84. DO YOU LIKE TO TAKE SELFIES? I guess?

85. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE APP? Tumblr!

86. WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR PARENT(S) LIKE? I think it’s pretty good!

87. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOREIGN ACCENT? German.

88. WHAT IS A PLACE THAT YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO, BUT YOU WANT TO VISIT? Germany, i’d like to see my grandpa’s home country!

89. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER? 42. It’s the answer to everything.

90. CAN YOU JUGGLE? Yep. No. Im juggling right now.

91. ARE YOU RELIGIOUS? I guess not.

92. DO YOU FIND OUTER SPACE OF THE DEEP OCEAN TO BE MORE INTERESTING? The ocean. It is a beautiful void.

93. DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE A DAREDEVIL? No, I’m too wholesome for that.

94. ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO ANYTHING? Nope!

95. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE? Yes!

96. CAN YOU WIGGLE YOUR EARS? No, but I know someone who can!

97. HOW OFTEN DO YOU ADMIT THAT YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT SOMETHING? I’m never wrong!

98. DO YOU PREFER THE FOREST OR THE BEACH? The forest!

99. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PIECE OF ADVICE THAT ANYONE HAS EVER GIVEN YOU? Never leave things unfinished!

100. ARE YOU A GOOD LIAR? Nope. I can’t do that.

101. WHAT IS YOUR HOGWARTS HOUSE? Hufflepuff. We rock.

102. DO YOU TALK TO YOURSELF? No! Stop exposing me!

103. ARE YOU AN INTROVERT OR AN EXTROVERT? I’m definitely an introvert!

104. DO YOU KEEP A JOURNAL/DIARY? I have tried! But I’ve never been able to complete one.

105. DO YOU BELIEVE IN SECOND CHANCES? Yep.

106. IF YOU FOUND A WALLET FULL OF MONEY ON THE GROUND, WHAT WOULD YOU DO? I don’t know. I know I wouldn’t keep it!

107. DO YOU BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE ARE CAPABLE OF CHANGE? Definitely.

108. ARE YOU TICKLISH? Yes. A lot. Don’t touch me.

109. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON A PLANE? Yep!

110. DO YOU HAVE ANY PIERCINGS? My ears!

111. WHAT FICTIONAL CHARACTER DO YOU WISH WAS REAL? Ichigo Kurosaki! Let me marry him!

112. DO YOU HAVE ANY TATTOOS? Nope! But I’m planning on getting some!

113. WHAT IS THE BEST DECISION THAT YOU’VE MADE IN YOUR LIFE SO FAR? I don’t know, my life isn’t over yet.

114. DO YOU BELIEVE IN KARMA? Yep!

115. DO YOU WEAR GLASSES OR CONTACTS? Glasses but you’ll never catch me wearing them!

116. DO YOU WANT CHILDREN? No.

117. WHO IS THE SMARTEST PERSON YOU KNOW? My dad, I think.

118. WHAT IS YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING MEMORY? I’ll not tell you!

119. HAVE YOU EVER PULLED AN ALL-NIGHTER? I never sleep. I always pull all-nighters.

120. WHAT COLOR ARE MOST OF YOU CLOTHES? Void.

121. DO YOU LIKE ADVENTURES? YEP! Let’s go on one right now!

122. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON TV? I guess, even accidentally. Maybe everyone has been on TV.

123. HOW OLD ARE YOU? 18

124. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE QUOTE? “What if it doesn’t work out? Ah, but what if it does?”

125. DO YOU PREFER SWEET OR SAVORY FOODS? What is savory? I onLY KNOW SWEET!

#get to know me #nonsims #thanks for tagging me <3

[softgothsweetheart]

Colors {Chrysalis}

The rain and wind was harsh and unforgiving as she walked up a path.

What the hell is going on?

Paisley got to where the path ended when she realized she was standing under a lighthouse. But then Lee saw another female and walked slowly to her. There was a giant tornado from what she could see and as she looked around, there wasn’t much else to be seen aside from buildings being completely destroyed. A boat flew from the storm, hitting the lighthouse. Just as Paisley recognized her classmate, she heard the loud groan and they both looked up, the lighthouse was coming down. Paisley shoved her classmate out of harms way just as the lighthouse collapsed on her. As she woke up, she realized she wasn’t in the middle of any storm, she was in class.

Paisley calmed her heartbeat and sighed, deciding that she would have to listen to class. Maybe her uncle giving a lecture would calm her down. Ground her, give her some sense of up and down until she could make sense of the dream.

Was it really a dream if I don’t remember falling asleep?

Paisley watched her uncle Mark lecture the students on Diane Arbus and chiaroscuro, all about photography – something she loved a lot. He’d taught her the beauty of it when she was old enough to hold one and not damage it. Lee knew she was old enough to form her own opinions of people and she – at the young age of 14 – had decided her uncle wasn’t truly who or what he said he was. The night she figured that out, it was too late, her aunt didn’t seem to care either – if she even knew what he did. But Lee was almost positive aunt Prudence knew. Not much too later, the bell rang, and the students were dismissed, only Kate, Max, and queen bee Victoria were left. Kate’s head was down, like she was thinking too hard, like she was overthinking. Lee wanted to believe it wasn’t because of the Vortex club party she’d attended a few weeks back, but she knew that it was. She must’ve remembered bits and pieces; Nathan hadn’t expected her to act out so much whilst under the influence.

Then Paisley stood up and walked over to her uncle who immediately dropped Victoria. She scoffed and glared at the younger girl, “Excuse you Paisley.”

Mark seemed to glare at the tall blonde, a look she didn’t notice. But he intervened before his beloved niece got hurt.

“Excuse you, miss Chase. Paisley is the youngest student here and she is also my niece and assistant.” He turned to her and asked her what she needed.

“Oh—I need to know where to go.”

“Just head out to the diner if need be.” He shrugged; Lee nodded obeying. As she walked away, Max walked almost alongside her but stopped when Mark called her name. Lee continued out of the quiet classroom into the noisy hallway where her fellow classmates were. Kids older than her by at least three years on but were more rambunctious than a room filled with toddlers. She quickly walked the halls, toward the bathroom because the feeling of eyes watching her had suddenly become too much to bear. Paisley had recently begun to experience something abnormal.

It’d happened one day when she was cleaning a camera and elbowed it off the table. The loud crash was heard in the back rooms of the house and her uncle had come rushing out, yelling. When he was coming at her, she held her hands out as if it were going to stop him and everything went backwards until her vision faded and burned at the edges. When Paisley looked behind her, the camera was fully intact and back on the desk. She thought it’d been a trip, but she even threw a rock into the house through a window before rewinding time until before it happened, even throwing her aunt’s phone at her head. The feeling and power had grown stronger, she knew that much.

Paisley’s feet took her into the girls’ bathroom, she holed herself in the last stall, listening to music on her phone as she sat on the toilet. It was a soft song—one of the many Rachel Amber had told her she’d like and gave to her on a playlist. It was sad that she’d no longer see her friend except through the miserable posters she saw around campus. The song was so soft that over the music she heard the door open once more and whispers. For a few minutes, Lee breathed silently and had her music low to listen when the door had opened with a loud smack, some more talking and another thwack. Shadows moved outside, she hadn’t a clue if they knew she was here in hiding. So, she killed the music and removed her headphones.

When Paisley looked down in the stall and to her left, she could see her fellow classmate’s shoes—Max’s to be exact. They weren’t hard to recognize. There was an exchange happening between Nathan and some random girl.

“You’re wrong—that’s my family—not me.”

“Oh, boo hoo, poor little rich kid. I know you’ve been pumpin’ drugs and shit to kids around here… I bet your respectable family would help me out if I went to them. Man, I can see the headlines now.” If this girl knew about the parties and drugs—if Nathan told, then she would die. Especially if she knew who the real culprit behind this was.

“Leave them out of this, bitch.” Nate growled, he wasn’t in the best of moods and she was testing his patience. It was going to get bad no doubt.

Maybe he can reel himself in… C’mon Nate, do what I taught you.

“I can tell everybody Nathan Prescott is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself—" Seems the unknown female cut her sentence short, gasping, her shoes scraping against the tiling as she fell back to the wall.

“You don’t know who the fuck I am or who you’re messing around with!” He shouted.

“Where’d you get that? What are you doing? Come on, put that thing down!” She seemed to be begging, Paisley peeked through the cracks and couldn’t see a damn thing except for Nathan’s movements. He growled in rage and she had a frightening thought—

Maybe it’s the gun uncle Mark bought for him! Oh god, no.

“Don’t EVER tell me what to do. I’m so sick of people trying to control me!”

“You’re gonna get in hella more trouble for this than drugs.”

“Nobody would ever even miss your ‘punk ass’ would they?!”  

Is he going to shoot this girl? What would he do with the body? The gun?

“Get that gun away from me psycho!” A loud bang rang out, Max yelled, and Paisley saw her arm stretched out through the cracks before everything rewound. Lee was sat back in class, diagonal to Max who seemed to be alert. More than one time traveler sounded crazier than one did. Class went on, everything the exact same as before, except for Max elbowing her polaroid camera off the table and rewinding it until it was no longer broken. After Max played with her rewind, using Victoria’s answer against her and Mark’s quote against him when he asked her where her photo was, they both left the classroom. Lee pulled her aside where no one could overhear them.

“Stop rewinding, Max, seriously.”

“How did you—” The older female seemed panicked that she knew.

“I can time travel too. Stop using it on nonsense. It won’t work when you truly need it if you don’t.” Paisley didn’t expect Max to listen, but it would have been nice to. They re-entered the bathroom and followed what they had done previously and waited until Nathan had pulled his gun again. Max moved the trolley, picked up the mallet, rewound so the trolley was back and smacked the emergency alarm in the corner. Loud blaring sounds that came were deafening, Nathan had fallen to the floor with a slam as the blue haired female shouted and made her escape. Nathan followed suit and Lee opened the stall and saw Max giving her a look that showed her relief.

They exited the bathroom together, but the security guard promptly stopped them, scolding and interrogating as if they were children and had done something wrong.

“Hey, Madsen, don’t be such a dick. I have familial issues and Max was helping and consoling me.” Paisley glared, and Max tried her best but looked like a small child.

“Miss Christopher—shut your mouth—” Lee scoffed, fake tears springing to her eyes as her hand covered her mouth. Principal Wells intervened and the were glad, but when exiting the building he stopped them.

“You both look stressed out. Are you both okay?”

“Mr. Madsen has serious issues, he just told me to shut up. He interrogated us. Today is such a hard day—it was my mother’s birthday.” Max seemed to be impressed by Paisley’s lying abilities.

“Is that all you’re thinking of? Or have you done something wrong?”

“Are you accusing me of lying, principal Wells?” She questioned, her tears drying up and shooting him an accusing glare.

“I’m sure my uncle informed you that it is in fact my mother’s birthday. I get very sad during this time of year. Max found me in the bathroom and consoled me. So, yes, principal Wells, I am rather stressed.” He must’ve bought it because he nodded and gestured to his office.

“My door is always open to give advice.”

“Thank you so much. It really means a lot.” Paisley nodded, giving a watery relieved smile before pulling Max to the main campus through the doors. The alarm was off but the ringing from it was annoying as all hell. Once they descended the stairs, Max yanked herself loose and it spun Lee around to face her.

“You didn’t tell him about Nathan—”

“Max, you don’t understand what happens if we go down that road. Wells won’t give a shit; he won’t look into it. Then he’ll tell Nathan’s dad who’ll threaten him and tell Nathan. It’ll come back to us.”

“But—shit—you lied so well that Wells bought it!”

“He’s a fucking drunkard, of course he did. Plus, I have tons of experience under my belt that I might as well be an expert.”

“Thanks, I guess… You’re Paisley Christopher, right?”

“Yeah I’m Mark Jefferson’s niece.”

“I didn’t know that, you look super young. How old are you?”

“Fourteen, he made sure I got into the academy.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re fourteen, you seem older.” A ping from Max’s phone sounded and she instantly checked it, texting.

“It’s Warren, I have to go. I’ll see you later?” Max asked, Paisley nodded and while her classmate went around campus to socialize, she went directly to the dorms where Victoria was sat with her minions. All three annoying plastics. When Paisley tried to pass, Victoria scoffed, sitting up.

“Whoa freak, you don’t even stay in the dorms.” She mocked, pointing out. Paisley rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“I mean, don’t move if you wanna crush your chances at the Everyday Heroes contest. I would, especially since I have ways of convincing my uncle.” Lee examined her nails, letting her green eyes flicker to Victoria’s.

“You’re like fucking twelve!” She shouted in displeasure.

“Nice guess, Tori, but I’m fourteen and I don’t screw around. If you want your fair chance to win the contest I’d move.” Victoria rolled her eyes, standing up even as Courtney and Taylor scoffed. They’d told their queen bee not to move a muscle and she had. It made Paisley feel powerful as she went up the steps and into the boys’ dorms.

Paisley entered the dorms, walking down the corridor before turning left and knocking on the first door there;111.

“What?” She heard Nathan’s upset grumbling from behind the door. Lee opened the door and walked in to where Nate was laying on his bed.

“What the fuck do you want?” Paisley closed the door behind her and sat on his couch and tried to get comfortable.

“You, the bathroom. Wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking?”

“The bathroom?” He asked, waving his hand dismissively.

“Your goddamn gun, Nate!” She whispers shouts and he was up and on his feet in an instant, his hand wrapped around her neck loosely. Nathan’s hand squeezed lightly, trying to remind her who was in charge.

“Don’t fucking yell at me, you’re like ten years old.”

“I’m fourteen, Nathan. Don’t play the age card.” She removed his hand and shoved it into his chest.

“He’ll kill us if he finds out.” She reminded him and he groaned.

“You actually want to live with what we’ve done?”

“Can you please take this seriously?” Nathan let out a laugh, devoid of any humor. It answered her question. He collapsed back on his bed and relaxed.

“Where were you in the bathroom?”

“I was hiding in the last stall.” He locked eyes with her and squinted, making sure she wasn’t lying.

“I guess you left the fucking Polaroid then. You gonna join Max on her twee hipster expeditions?”

“That one wasn’t mine, Nate.”

“Then who does it—” He stopped himself short and sat up.

“Max Caulfield. Fan-fucking-tastic! Are you sure she was there?”

“She saw the gun, she almost told Wells too, I had to step in and lie.”

“You only stepped in to cover her ass.”

“Not even, I stepped in because what if Wells begins investigating? You know Mark wouldn’t be happy about it. I convinced her that it was best if she didn’t clash heads with you.”

“Damn right.” Nathan was off his bed and out the door and had Paisley trailing after him, he was in the main campus and in the parking lot in no time at all. Paisley was trying to stop him, pulling on his arm but he yanked out of her grip.

“Max Caulfield, right? You’re one of Jefferson’s photo groupies…” He asked as he approached her.

“I’m one of his students.” Max corrected; Paisley cursed her. Why couldn’t s have just gone along with it?

“Whatthefuckever. I know you like to take pictures, especially when you’re hiding out in bathrooms. You best tell me what you saw. Now!” Nathan demanded, yelling. Paisley braced herself for the worst, she knew it was coming. She shook her head at Warren when he looked to her, Nathan towered over Max. She shouldn’t have told him.

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you’re new here but don’t play dumb with me.”

“I’m not new. I’ve lived here for years.”

“Then you should know the Prescott’s own this shithole.”

“Nate—"

“Then you shouldn’t worry about me… worry about yourself.” He grew angrier, his hands clenching tighter into fists. Max seemed to have a penchant for pissing him off, then again, didn’t everybody?

Nathan was so far gone, lost in his anger and beyond reasoning. If a hand was laid on him, a fight could break out. He was a ticking time bomb.

“Do not analyze me! I pay people for that. Worry about yourself, Max Caulfield.”

“Take a step back, Nathan Prescott.” Max's words have him stepping closer, into her face.

“Oh, man, you’re telling me what to do?” Warren gets in between and as a result, gets headbutted. He falls to the ground, clutching his head. Max shoves Nathan and he turns back to her, his hand gripping her around the neck.

“Nathan!” Paisley shouted, eyeing Warren on the ground.

“Nobody tells me what to do,” he shakes Max, “Not my parents, not the principal, or that whore in the bathroom!” She manages to scrape his cheek and he shoves her to the ground. Lee grabs Nate by his shoulder and he backhands her, and she stumbles as a rusted beige truck drives up. It almost hits Max who immediately stands up and gazes at the driver.

“Chloe?”

“Max?” They hear the driver exclaim.

“No way, you again?” Nathan questions in a growl. Warren stands up and tackles Nathan to the ground.

“Go, go! I got this!” He yells and Max gets in. Paisley looks around and all she can feel is her heart beating in her chest. Nathan pauses hitting Warren and stands up, kicking the car door closed.

“Get your punk asses out of there now! Don’t even try to run! Nobody messes with me! NOBODY!” He shouts as the female from the bathroom pulls away. Paisley watches as the truck gets farther and farther away. Madsen comes over and the teenagers turn towards him.

“You three, Principal Wells’ office. Now.”

“Fuck off old man.” Nathan gives the security guard the finger. Warren stands to his feet and Paisley feels her cheek and looks around between the guys.

“Miss Christopher—move it—”

“Dude I said fuck off! Do you not understand English?” Nate shouted, lighting a cigarette. Madsen grabbed Lee by her bicep, and she tried pulling away, protesting.

“Leave her alone—” Warren said.

“Stay out of this Gayram.” Nathan sneered. Madsen forced them to the Principal’s office, Warren with an ice pack, Nathan with a bandage where the scratches were, and Paisley who had makeup on hand to cover the forming bruise.

“Would either of you three care to explain?” Wells asked, each of them looked at each other. The boys not bothering to mask their disdain for each other.

“Nathan started this.” The younger boy spoke up. The older boy raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, giving him the finger, which Wells didn’t even bother to comment on. Warren gave a mocking face and Nathan almost smacked him from behind Paisley when Wells scolded him. Warren and Paisley argued until it became too loud and they all silenced at Wells’ yelling. Nathan made half assed comments and left the office, not bothering to close the door behind him.

“We done here? Cause I’m leaving too.” Warren stormed out in a slightly less aggressive fashion and Paisley secured her bag as she stood up.

“Want to explain miss Christopher? It seems like the most trouble you’ve caused, and the week is only beginning.” He asked, leaning over his desk. Paisley shrugged.

“I’m just unlucky. Bad timing is all.” She chalked it up, leaving the room as she heard him sigh behind her. She exited the school and what ever students were left from earlier whispered and eyed her. First time she’d taken it in stride, she’d made it to the campus exit when she received two messages at the same time from two very different people.

UNKNOWN > You just wait until I see you later.

Warren > How could you defend such an asshole? He hit you!

Not a good end to any day, this meant bad news. When she met her uncle in the parking lot, he didn’t look pleased in the least. Paisley got in the car, no protesting and he climbed in the driver’s side. The whole ride home, he expressed his disappointment calmly. Most likely he’d get angrier at home where she could receive her punishment.

They arrived but when she slowly went to hide but failed, he caught her by her lengthy brown hair, yanking her downwards until her knees hit the laminate.

“I wasn’t going to discipline you but then I saw the look in your eye. You were going to hide; I just know it.”

“Please—uncle Mark, I wasn’t! I promise!” She cried, her knees rubbing harshly even with her dress to protect them a little. Her hands covered his, attempting to undo them.

“Go to your room, I don’t want to see you until tomorrow.” He let go of her hair and Paisley managed to stand up on her wobbly knees.

“My punishment?” She asked, stumbling back.

“You take the photos Friday. I choose the subject and you don’t get dinner tonight.”

“What subject?” She asked fearfully, maybe it was Stella? Or Alyssa, or even Taylor and Courtney. It was impossible to figure out who his intended target was.

“Victoria, of course. You’re drugging her at the Vortex Club party. After I announced the winner of the contest.” Paisley nodded, leaving his presence and staying in her room. He’d left a bit ago by the time the sun was setting, it was getting late and she was getting hungry, but she wouldn’t dare try to eat. Paisley lost track of how much time she’d been sitting in the window. When she saw the snow, she didn’t believe it to be real. The house was silent meaning her aunt Prudence was gone and had taken Amelia to work.

She simply went outside and watched it snow. Lee sat on the steps of the backyard and felt sharp pains in her head, passing out. There was thunder, harsh winds. Paisley forced herself to walk up the steep terrain. She managed to barely avoid collapsing trees and rolling boulders. They obstacles she probably couldn’t have managed without her rewind abilities. As she ran up, Paisley realized it was a lighthouse. The lighthouse, she looked over the edge and saw nothing but Arcadia Bay in ruins.

When she made it to the top, she saw Max who was holding a newspaper.

“October 11th? Is this Friday? That’s only four days away!” Max exclaimed, letting the paper fly upwards into the storm. Paisley reached out, her hand touching Max’s shoulder as she zapped back to the stairs. Lee stood and stumbled into the house, locking the back door and locking herself inside her bedroom.

Maybe it’s time to be a hero.

#life is strange #nathan prescott x oc #nathan prescott #chloe price #warren graham #Mark Jefferson #Mark jeffershit #mark Jefferson x oc #victoria chase #rachel amber #writing #fanfics

[unwellnessdiaries]

Upside Down - Part I

´Three months ago, my life looked very different. And then, suddenly, it changed.

When I woke up in the morning, I wondered mostly about my next gig, my upcoming wedding, what I would eat that day, and how overpacked my schedule was. I had a rash on my lip that was just starting to clear up. It was a hot summer, I was training a new employee at the bookstore, we had some travel plans on the books. It was a busy time. It usually is for us. We like to do things.

I have had anxiety since I was young. Much of my struggle stems back to some significant traumas: the sudden losses of my sister and two very close friends  between the ages of 13 and 19. I’ve explained to people that losses such as these can convince you that catastrophe is waiting around every corner. When events in day-to-day life seem to confirm that worldview, it is easy to spiral into chaos. And so, one day in July, spiral I did.

I was in the middle of an allergy patch test. I thought nothing of it. It was for the rash on my lip--just trying to figure out if I was allergic to my chapstick, maybe something in my toothpaste. I’d had a lump in my throat all week. Nothing much to be concerned about, I thought. It had happened before. I had gotten sick once from it, but the sickness came and went. Just allergies, I thought. I wasn’t supposed to take allergy medicine while doing the allergy test. No biggie, either. I almost never took allergy medicine. Nothing ever happened. Somewhere deep down, I thought allergies weren’t really a big deal. But I knew I was allergic to nickel. It’s given me rashes my whole life. And nickel is one of the many things I was being tested for. I had an itchy welt on my back where the nickel patch was.

That day, I went for a walk on my lunch break, as I did every day. It was hot, so it was a shorter walk--only a mile or so, at a leisurely pace. It was a Friday, so I stopped at the local coffee shop and got an iced cappuccino and an almond croissant for lunch. Not the everyday fare for me, as I prioritize eating healthy, but I had just had my weekly weigh-in, and we were headed out of town for the weekend. It was an ok time for a treat. I ate at my leisure, I listened to the new tracks I had contributed backing vocals to on a friend’s album, I walked back to work. All was well, all was sunny.

An hour later, I could not breathe.

I was trying to train the new hire. We were going through entering books into our inventory system. I started running out of air by the end of sentences. My heart started to race. It crept in, somehow both gradually and all at once--the realization that I was not getting enough air. I tried to keep on, apologizing to my new coworker, stumbling through instructions as I frantically texted my fiancé. I gave in and called him: “I think I’m having an asthma attack,” I said. “Can you run home and try to find my inhaler?”

I hadn’t used my inhaler in over a year. I didn’t know where it was. I could barely remember what it looked like, or the color of the box. Sam dutifully searched for half an hour, but nothing. I called the allergist’s office. “I think I’m having a bad reaction to the allergy test,” I said. “I am having trouble breathing.” They told me to come in right away. Sam came to work and got me. I remember walking out to his car as fast as I could, in panic, my chest heaving up and down with the effort of breath. He sped me to the doctor. I called my parents. I could barely get through the sentences as I told them what was happening. I felt profoundly weak.

In the office, the doctor came in and cooed--“Are we having a little asthma attack?” I said “I think so.” He listened to my lungs and told the nurse to bring in a nebulizer. It was only the second time in my life I had ever seen one. The doctor was kind, the nurse was kind. 

I started the treatment, taking massive breaths in and out of the machine, starved for air. I remembered from the first time I’d used one, one year prior, that they made me feel very shaky. The nurse came in halfway through the treatment and asked how I was doing. As I took the nebulizer mouthpiece out, a long string of drool came from my mouth. I was embarrassed. The nurse joked with me about it, again, kindly.

 When the treatment was over, the doctor came back. He listened to my breathing again, told me my lungs sounded better. I was pleased. He told me he’d be giving me a shot of steroids. I was less pleased, but I agreed to it. I trusted him implicitly. He prescribed me an inhaler. I asked him if I could still go on the trip for which we were scheduled to leave that night. He said there was no reason why not. “Pick up your inhaler first. If you get worse, go to the emergency room.” 

We didn’t need to pick up the inhaler prescription; we got home and found my other one, resting in a strange but not altogether unexpected place. Barely used. Still in the box. Red and white box, blue inhaler. I made a mental note, but I wouldn’t need to. I will never forget the color of a ventolin inhaler again.

And that’s when it all turned upside down. It’s been upside down ever since. 

Over the course of the night, and the weekend, the cocktail of steroids and my own mental chemistry collided in the form of ferocious, rolling panic attacks. Here was catastrophe, right at my doorstep. She had caught me unprepared.

Our usually-uneventful car trip down to Sam’s parents was punctuated with abject terror. Heart racing, I called my parents and told them I must be getting worse, I couldn’t breathe, I’d need to go to the emergency room. I used the inhaler. I was sure I would not make it the next four hours until I could use it again. I was sure I was dying. My parents spoke gently to me, reminding me that I was speaking to them in full sentences and not running out of air, telling me to try to recline my seat and try to get some rest. I sobbed, I screamed, I wanted Sam to pull over, find the nearest hospital. My brain wretched and raced and squeezed itself. I know now that this is what prednisone can do. I know now that albuterol makes your heart race. I did not know then. No one had explained it to me. 

I reclined in my seat. I opened the “Calm” app on my phone, and listened to a rhythmic breathing chime, loudly in my headphones, drowning out Sam’s John Coltrane. I drifted off to sleep for a time and woke up again, face puffy from crying, but alive. I cried much of that weekend. Through Sam’s chiropractor father giving me the gentlest of adjustments and supplements, through Sam’s family treating me with their usual open kindness and warmth, I held within me a bubbling, simmering sea of panic. 

We had a fantastic game night that Saturday. We laughed loudly and competed with characteristic mock-zeal and ferocity. We drank red wine.

The next morning I awoke to the panic boiling over. I was sure I could not breathe again. I used the inhaler. I felt it did not help, my heart kept racing and racing. I cried at breakfast. My in-laws soothed me and distracted me. They saw the fear in my eyes.

I know now that those were panic attacks, not asthma attacks. I know now that the heart racing comes with the fear inherent in an asthma attack, but that the asthma attack is something deeper, more sinister. The asthma attack is the silent squeeze that puts the lights out, where the panic attack is the blinding flash that washes out the world, until you cannot make out the shapes of figures anymore. My whole world that weekend was blinding flashes of light. I did not know which figures were friendly, which were alien. My body and I were entirely disconnected, as if it was some strange, new, unfriendly house I was suddenly living in. 

We traveled home that Sunday with leftover food and well wishes, as we so often do from Sam’s sweet, loving parents. We traveled back to a house which I fretted about constantly, because it was never clean enough. Nothing I did was ever enough to make it clean. I felt ill at ease upon our return, and frankly, the time after that night starts to blur into a swirling, bluish-black sea of discomfort and depression. I made it through the weekend, and I was given some small comfort by that, but the world was foreign and uneasy. Everything was as it had been, in its proper place, but somehow changed. Upside down. And it’s stayed upside down ever since.

#asthma #allergies #chronically ill #chronic illness #adult onset asthma #asthma attack

[suga-ssi]

Sea Rain

Based from a prompt sent by: melissa-2894

for Scenario - Ship - Song prompts: Sea - Yoonmin - Butterfly

“Hyung? Hyung?” Jimin shouted, as he frantically searched for his keys and put on his shoes, tripping a bit in the process.

“Hyung!” Jimin called again, finally finding his keys amidst the mess of take-away trays on the kitchen counter.

Yoongi peered from the room he converted to be his studio, bluetooth headphones on, eyebrows raised, asking why Jimin was looking for him.

“I’m picking up our lunch order from Tae’s. You craving anything else, babe?”, the younger asked as he smoothed his cotton-candy pink hair while facing the mirror by their front door, looking at Yoongi through the reflection.

The older man took off his headphones, letting them rest around his neck, his mouth in the adorable pout which Jimin knew to mean that he was thinking. “Yes?” Jimin urged Yoongi to answer, but the older just shook his head and smiled softly at Jimin.

“Ok, fine. I’ll just order the usual, okay?” the pink haired boy asked, to which Yoongi just nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Yoongi was on his way back to his room, headphones almost back on his ears when Jimin called him again. “Hyung!” The older man looked back at his boyfriend.

Jimin made shot gun hearts at Yoongi with his fingers, accompanied by tongue clicks and winks. He knew it was cheesy but he also knew that his boyfriend secretly found it adorable. Yoongi placed both his hands on his chest, clutching himself, pretending he get shot. His shoulder raised repeatedly in silent laughter at their cringe-worthy antics.

Yoongi then turned towards his room shaking his head, putting the headphones back on. Jimin couldn’t see it but he was pretty sure his hyung was still smiling as he walked away.

He walked out the door, making sure that the keys were safely in his pocket. He learned the hard way that leaving their studio without bringing his own set of keys could mean that he would have to stand and wait outside for longer than he would want.

Yoongi always worked on his music at home, mostly with loud sounds blasting in his ears, making it impossible for him to hear the knocks or even the doorbell ringing. Music was important to Yoongi, it was his first love. Jimin had already accepted that he only came second, which of course Yoongi denied.

He met Yoongi while the older man was still DJ-ing at a bar by the sea in Busan to save up money for production equipment. It wasn’t really Jimin’s scene and he wouldn’t have gone if his friend Sungwoon didn’t drag him, but the moment he saw the bar’s lights play on Yoongi’s blue hair and pale skin, he knew he was done for. He danced in front of the stage, drink in hand in a desperate attempt to get the DJ to look at him. As the night wore on, Jimin slowly accepted that it was pointless and he would be getting nowhere with the blue-haired boy. He walked outside the bar towards the shore, sitting by the water’s edge, listening to the waves crash. He hugged his jacket on tightly, as his blonde hair got ruffled by the sea breeze. “Want some company?”, the voice was deep and gravelly and Jimin almost snapped at him to just go away. He turned around to see Yoongi with a bottle of beer in his hand, beautiful gummy smile on his face. “I… I would love some,” Jimin responded and the older man sat slowly beside him, facing the sea.

Five years after the night that they met, Yoongi decided to drive out with Jimin back to the sea. He surprised Jimin with a beach side picnic and prepared floating lanterns to comemorate their anniversary. Everything was beautifully set-up and Jimin almost cried. Unfortunately, it rained. Jimin saw the disappointment in Yoongi’s face with the foiled surprise. He decided to make Yoongi dance with him under the rain. The shore was filled with their laughter and singing. A day later, Jimin found himself in the hospital coughing and sick from their trip. He should have felt miserable, but Yoongi was there and so everything was okay.

Jimin weathered everything with Yoongi beside him. He loved how Yoongi fully accepted who he was, weird quirks and all. Because Jimin wasn’t normal, not in the conventional sense of the word. But when he told Yoongi his secret, the older man just smiled and told him he was lucky to be gifted. And that was that. He has been living happily with the other man for 5 years and 3 months to the day.

———————

Jimin was almost in front of Tae’s restaurant when he heard screeching tires, a thunderous crash and a woman’s scream. He turned just in time to see the wreckage in the intersection. A black Honda City and a silver Ford Escape crashed head on, a small orange Kia collided where the other two hit each other. Broken glass were everywhere and the lunch time traffic started to gather at the site of the accident. Jimin saw the wailing woman inside the Kia, the car’s passenger side window bloody.

He was so fixated at the metal carnage that he didn’t even notice that Tae was already standing beside him.

“Holy shit!”, Tae exclaimed, eyes wide open, hands on his temple, mouth agapped. “What the fuck just happened?”

Jimin shrugged, “Didn’t really see it.” Tae looked behind him when he realized that Jimin was looking past him.

“Someone died?” Tae asked quietly.

Jimin nodded.

“Do you know who?” Tae inquired and Jimin nodded again.

“Is- is the person behind me?” Tae asked worriedly, forehead furrowing in concern.

Jimin nodded.

“Aggghhhh!” Tae shouted, rubbing his arms as goosebumps formed on his skin. “I told you never to… Uggghhh… Park Jimin.” He exclaimed angrily as he walked to wards his restaurant’s door.

With his friend gone, Jimin approached the person he was looking at. A young girl, no older than 7 in pink leotards, hair in a bun fixed on top of her head. She was looking at the crying woman who was walking towards the back of the ambulance following a turney.

“Is she your mother?” Jimin inquired, looking at the same woman.

The little girl slowly nodded, gaze fixed on her mother.

“You’re a little confused, aren’t you?”

She finally looked at Jimin, tears seemingly brimming her almond eyes as she nodded with a pout. The dead don’t talk and Jimin never understood why, but from the moment he learned his gift he has accepted this as a fact.

“I’ll try and help you, okay? I just have to get something inside. Wait here,” Jimin sad, as he walked inside the restaurant to get his order.

Jimin rushed outside the door, take-out bags in his hand to find the little girl. But she was gone. He knew that she probably followed her mother, and that she will definitely be back because he was the only one who could see her.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep as he turned the corner towards the direction of his studio. “She will be back,” he told himself. “And I will help her then.”

He fished for his keys from his pockets to let himself in and went straight to the kitchen island to place all the food.

“Jimin?”

Jimin turned around and was surprised to see Seokjin, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook in his living room. Hoseok and Jungkook were seated on the L-shaped black leather couch while Seokjin was standing, facing Jimin directly with Namjoon behind him.

“Oh my God, hyung! Did Yoongi let you in?”, Jimin shouted with delight, rushing to hug Seokjin. 

“I have a copy, remember?” Seokjin answered, showing Jimin the set of keys the couple gave him in case of emergencies.

“Oh! Of course!” Jimin chuckled.

“You guys!” He started, looking at his other friends, eyes disappearing as he smiled widely. “You should have told me you were coming!” Jimin said happily, as he walked back to the kitchen to bring out the take-aways from the plastic bags.

“Hyung!” Jimin shouted. “Yoongi hyung! The guys are here! Come out!” He looks back apologetically at the others when Yoongi did not answer. “I’m sorry, he probably has his headphones on. Let me just…” He was wiping his hands on his jeans when Seokjin grabbed his wrist.

“Jimin, baby. This has to stop.” Jimin looks at his hyung’s face filled with concern, and so were the others’.

Jimin let out a confused chuckle as he pulled his hand free from Seokjin’s. “What? Hyung? What do you mean? You’re scaring me.”

“Where is Yoongi hyung, Jimin?”, Namjoon asked. “Is he here?”

“Hyung?!”, he directed at Namjoon as if the question the other asked was incredulous. “He is! In his studio he…”

That’s when Jimin saw Yoongi, standing by the window. Jimin wanted to point him out to the others, wondering why they were asking where he was. He lifted his finger towards Yoongi’s direction and at the same time everyone looked to where he was pointing.

“He…”, Jimin started but stopped, as he watched Yoongi shake his head sadly. He watched Yoongi’s black fluffy hair slowly get damp until it’s tips started dripping. Like the water triggered it, his lover’s beautiful skin started looking pale and gray. Yoongi’s clothes changed from the big black jumper Jimin was so used to seeing on him into the cream colored button up shirt he wore during their anniversary at the sea.

“NO!!! NO!!! NOO!!! NO!!!!” Jimin clasped his hands, covering his mouth as the realization dawned on him. He felt the air get punched out of his chest. His knees buckled, suddenly unable to support him. Seokjin was quick to catch him, as the rest of his friends stood up to kneel beside his shaking frame. But Jimin’s eyes never left Yoongi. He watched as his lover’s lips quivered, his hands balled into a fist, shaking.

“Yooongi… Yoooo… Yooong,” Jimin sobbed, his body being supported by his friend, eyes longingly locked on his lover who started looking more and more like a nightmare Jimin kept fighting off.

“Shhhh… shhhh… shhh,” he heard Hoseok try to calm him down, stroking his back. He could hear Jungkook crying, the younger boy held onto his shoulders.

“Jimin, do you remember now?” Namjoon asked.

The anniversary, the sea, the rain, the accident, the hospital, Yoongi.

He was there, Jimin thought. Yoongi was there.

Jimin’s eyes never left Yoongi, he watched as his hyung cried. But was he really crying? Jimin asked himself. Do dead men cry?

“We’ve left you alone with this for too long, Jimin. And we’re sorry,” Namjoon admitted heavily, head resting on the crying boy’s arm.

“Taetae called and said you have still been ordering for two,” Seokjin explained, his voice laced with tears he has been holding back. “It’s been three months, Jimin. You need to let him go.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, looking straight at Yoongi’s eyes that showed a mixture of fear and sadness.

“Jimin, you told us that the one’s left behind should let the one’s leaving go in peace, remember?” Namjoon urged, his hands holding onto Jimin’s.

“Yoongi, we miss you buddy!” Namjoons shouted out. “But we will take care of him, okay? Trust us. We will take care of him.”

“Hyung?” Jimin heard Jungkook say between sobs. “I miss you so much! But… but… I… want you to find… peace, hyung. Please.”

Jimin watched Yoongi’s expression calm down with a slight smile. The dripping from his hair stopped, color coming back to his skin, but his whole appearance seemed fainter.

Yoongi titled his said as if asking him something, eyebrows furrowed. Jimin reached his hands out, and Yoongi matched his, but their fingers never touched. With much difficulty and hesitation, Jimin put down his hand, closed his eyes and nodded, looking back at Yoongi longingly.

I love you, Yoongi mouthed.

The dead don’t talk, Jimin never understood why and for the first time he wished that they did.

“I love you too, Yoongi,” Jimin whispered, lips quivering, breathing staggered.

The light shone bright from the window and a faint breeze lifted the curtains, then… Yoongi was gone.

——–

Lyrical inspiration:

It’s like a wind that gently strokes me It’s like a dust that gently drifts along You’re there but for some reason, I can’t reach you, stop You, who’s like a dream is a butterfly high to me

Note: If the story AU seems familiar, it’s because I based it from Dean Koontz’s Odd Thomas

I hope you liked it!

#fic #prompt #yoonmin #sss #sea rain #min yoongi #min suga #min pd #bangtan #bts #park jimin #romance #established relationship

[sordidpassionsandlockedemotions]

(Teenage mundane Malec au where Alec’s skateboarding at the skate park with his siblings when well Magnus appears)

Friday afternoon he was posed near the edge with his skateboard about to down,and up an ramp nice sunny day. His sister was obsessing over plans for their school’s dance,and Jace the best friend he’d always had well found interest in some female. Typical it made him want distance,away from the flirting so he placed the skateboard down.

Pushing off and made it down,heading up the ramp,and an half pipe but eyes landed on some guy walking by. He was good at this thing except managed to screw up rolling onto flat ground,skateboard running off on it’s own. Maybe if he laid there,could pretend nobody had seen it. 

But he heard voices nearby must be the people he’d seen walking. “Come on Magnus don’t think about it.” Female voice surely wasn’t all serious though he just laid there listening to the life around him,looking at the sky.

“Aw come on Cat he’s attractive.” “Normally I’d encourage you but think you might be the reason he crashed.” “In which case all the more reason to talk to him.” “Or not he might get an concussion if you did.”

Soon the shadow of Jace appeared over him offering out an hand,”You okay there?”  “Yeah I’m fine just lost my footing.” “Alec losing his footing typical you.” 

Pulling himself up with Jace’s help seeing his skateboard in the other’s arms and took it back. Izzy dropped gracefully down walking up to them with an expression that spelled she was ready to leave. 

“I need to go dress shopping so come on Alec.” Immediately he was tugged up the steps and back to high ground. His sister let go darting over to the female,and male standing nearby. Eyes noticing just then the blonde tipped hair of the male-Magnus,makeup,dressy clothes must go to one of the other schools. The female who’d been referred to as Cat clearly decided to part ways walking off.

Heading over he could hear the two talking,must be friends wouldn’t surprise Alec his sister was an social butterfly. “Hey Alec this is Magnus Bane goes to the art school,and Magnus this is my big brother Alec.” What was with that grin on her face. 

“Nice to meet you.” “Uh likewise.”

Wow talk about smooth why was his breath so full of air,he felt sick. “You should tag along shopping with us,there’s an dance for our school on Monday need an dress,and Alec you need an outfit too.” Alec scowled confused why he had to be involved. “Lydia bought your ticket,I saw it,and told me what colors you’re wearing.” Oh that’s why not that Izzy exactly approved of the relationship,or was the best of friends with Lydia.

Trudging behind his sister,and apparently her friend as they discussed stuff he couldn’t keep interest in. Untangling headphones and plugged them into his phone,tuning them out. Didn’t want to go with Lydia to the stupid dance,but got to play the part of amazing boyfriend. Even if she was well not the best situation,but he didn’t dare break it off. 

Which left Izzy and Magnus noticing his sulking behind them,dressed in all black literally an storm cloud. “So take it Lydia’s his girlfriend?” Izzy immediately glanced an bit at her brother well aware of the crush that had sparked. 

“I refuse to call her much of one,she makes him even more miserable than he’d be just doing his crappy repressed routine.” Which got an eyebrow raise from Magnus,”Mean she’s alright but clearly letting him torture himself,and she pressures him an lot.” She thought an moment,”He’s just not into girls,and trying to force himself guess doesn’t help she won’t let him break up with her.” 

They continued talking as such till they got to the store where Izzy ripped off Alec’s headphones,he quickly paused the music,”What?” She pointed at the store then dragged him inside. Where he wound up playing an game on his phone skateboard gently propped against the fancy couch as she tried on over an dozen dresses. Listening as the two chatted eyes watching Magnus who tried on an few blazers at one point.

“Your turn Alec!” He groaned slumping onto the floor,”Come on it won’t kill you how about this an dressy button up and new blazer no black but I’ll get an in between.” She vanished and he stood up shoving his phone in his jeans pocket soon was engulfed by an stack of clothes. Which took an half hour to try on eventually she seemed statisfied.

“That one,and for being an good sport all you have to wear is the jacket,and shirt can wear your black jeans,and boots if you want.” Could almost swear Magnus was checking him out,they paid and Izzy bought Magnus an hat that she placed on his head. 

Monday was an day of being so grumpy,left school early even cause one more remark about the dance via Lydia was going to make him lose it. Come the dance he was sitting with her,drinking the lemonade she’d gotten them. Tasted downright awful,pretty sure some 2 year old had made it. She started getting mad he wouldn’t dance with her,or kiss her. They never had only faked it,minus the times she practically had kissed him violently,but he didn’t count it because never returned them. 

She stood up eventually,”Fine whatever I quit,we’re through.” Storming out of the gym meanwhile Alec’s eyes met somebody he didn’t expect to see. Magnus dressed in an waistcoat,tips dyed,jewelry,makeup and there went Alec’s breath. He scooped up the trash going to throw it away when Magnus came up to him. 

“She alright?” Referring to Lydia probably considering they’d passed each other. He shrugged grabbing some glass of soda,sweet sugar much better. Trying to stop staring at the art student but was hard. 

“Uh yeah fantastic,just broke up with me.” Eyes glanced over at his sister hanging with some red head that didn’t go to their school. Then back at Magnus,”Mean not that you care-or need to know um why you here?” Looking at his dark blue shirt an moment then fixed the red jacket. 

“Izzy invited me,bought an ticket if it’s not too sudden would you like to dance?” That was woah uh probably an joke on him,eyes glancing and saw Jace in some sheltered corner out of adult sight getting an bit handsy with some girl. Ugh his best friend was an sex addict and then some. 

No clue how to reply so words failed him,”I uh you well can’t I don’t really dance and-.” 

“And I’ll lead then.” Pulled to the dance floor Alec was panicking,what if Jace saw,or the school never let him live it down,word got to his parents,worst pictures and or video. But it faded as he felt hands rest gently on his waist,and Magnus danced slowly with him. On the way out realized things were okay,and he’d angel forbid had fun. 

Was tugged into an dark corner in the front of the school,”Tonight was fun,maybe an actual date sometime?” 

Hearing Izzy calling his name Alec carefully untangled the other’s hands off him,”Uh yeah maybe but I have to go.” Before he could go however he felt an hand brush against his and could feel warm as he darted to where his sister was.

#malec au fic #malec fanfic #my fanfics #//Kind of want to write more of this-also more of Princely Hell Magnus malec stuff//

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Chapter 18

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feyre and Rhys confront Tamlin's secret and admit the depth of their feelings for each other. Smut ensues. NSFW.

Chapter 18

“I - wait, what?”

“Sit in the chair.”

“Feyre?”

I grabbed my chair and dragged it closer in front of the canvas facing the opposite direction and pointed again. “Sit. I need to paint you.” Rhys stared at me like I’d gone mad. “Please, Rhys.”

That did it. Whether it was the near-violent please or the desperate way I said his name, that did it. He sat.

I dug through my supply bag looking for the paints I needed and paused when my hand touched on something small and plastic. I pulled out the flash drive Rhys had slipped in my locker “for inspiration” the note had said.

“I forgot about this,” I said. Rhys didn’t say anything. Only stared as I walked over to the workroom computer and loaded the music. A beautiful symphony came through the speakers overhead. It was somber and quiet - fitting for just such an occasion.

“Do you trust me?” I asked, walking back to Rhys while the music played on and built towards something more.

Rhys never broke eye contact with me once as he found my hand, pulled it to his mouth, and kissed me just above where his sister’s ring sat on my finger. “With all my heart.”

I wiped the tears staining my face away as best I could. He wanted to touch me. I could tell. But I dropped his hand and moved to my desk where the paints were and started mixing.

Black - that was obvious. But I’d need other colors too. Rhys wasn’t a bleak and dark storm clouding over the sky. He was the sky itself and that required colors - lots and lots of colors. When my palette was set, I undid the bow tie at his neck and loosened the first two buttons so that the top of his chest was exposed.

“Feyre, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Trying and failing epically to resist my good lucks and outstanding charm? I told you - if you wanted me naked, all you had-”

“To do was ask, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Now sit still. I need to concentrate.”

Rhys watched me - not my hands as I lifted the brush to his skin, but my eyes. Watched the way I supposed they narrowed in on every pore, every drop of paint. A cold tickle met his cheek as my brush glossed over him. “Shit,” he said resisting a shudder. “That’s… that’s… kind of nice actually.”

“Such a baby sometimes,” I said and continued to apply the color, matting in the black around his jaw and hairline before adding in a dark, smokey purple the same shade as eggplant as it came in to reach the corners of his eyes. It matched perfectly. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tamlin and your sister?”

“Is that what he wanted to talk to you about?”

“Don’t deflect. This isn’t about him.”

Rhys closed his eyes as my brushed moved further down his face drawing little swirls and wisps from below his chin and jaw. His lip shook with every brush.

“I’m not mad,” I said when he wouldn’t say anything, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I dated someone who did terrible things to me, who was a crappy boyfriend while I had him, who said the worst things about you and right now I can’t think of one single instance where you returned that animosity - said anything bad about him to me even if I knew you felt it, especially now that I know you had ample reason to trash him, and I... I don’t know what to make of that.”

The tears returned fresh, this time quiet and thirsty to know.

I continued painting him all over his neck and the tops of his chest. I covered his ears so that they blended into the darkness of his hair, nearly disappearing. I stepped back to examine my handiwork and liked what I saw. His face was a study in blacks and greys, clouded with all the weight a heart could carry.

When he opened his eyes and that little pop of violet stood out, I saw the full picture of him against the stark white of the canvas behind his chair. And I knew how to make him look the way I remembered him in my mind every time I fell asleep at night. It had been the same image of him since the night we’d lain beneath the stars together.

I added fresh blues and violets and even a tiny dab of yellow to my palette and went to the canvas. Rhys fidgeted in his seat to get up, but I reached out to his shoulder and held him down firm.

“Sit. I need to paint. Just sit and talk - about anything.”

Rhys nodded and I withdrew looking at my canvas. I shirked off the cape of my gown so it wouldn’t get caught as I moved about. And then - I started painting.

It wasn’t long before Rhys spoke.

“This was her favorite symphony,” he said, his voice dull and lackluster, devoid all the usual bravado that made Rhys Rhys. I honed in on the music, following the haunting melody as it grew and stretched towards an insatiable climax that filled me with a quiet, subtle hope. I could see why Rhys had chosen it.

“She practiced it for hours and hours on the piano and I would yell at her from my room to shut up because I was tired and trying to sleep. Then when she died, I couldn’t stop listening to it. I tracked down every version of it I could find until I had them all. When Mor moved in, she took all my headphones away. Said it was too horrible to watch.”

A light layer of black, sponged on to give a translucency to the canvas that swept out in a great arch. Dark - but not lost.

“Tamlin and I were friends growing up. Nothing like Cassian or Azriel. But good enough. We ran in the same schools and our families knew each other. I shouldn’t have been so surprised when my sister took an interest. I was more surprised when he returned it.”

Veins of gold, small slivers cracking through the clouds here and there. Just enough promise of hope, the kind you feel when new love strikes.

“Was he good to her?” I asked quietly. A sick question, but I needed to know.

“He was. They didn’t date long given, given… what happened. But he was kind once, much kinder than he is now. Sometimes, I wish he hadn’t changed so much, but then I look at myself and how the accident broke me in two and I wonder if I wouldn’t have become the same thing in his shoes.”

I flinched at the horror behind that admittance, at the grief it had to cost him.

“He asked about you. About talking. He’s sorry for what happened and I think that he means it, but I… would be lying if I said he’s not broken anymore.”

Rhys didn’t reply. I chanced a glance at him and found him sitting with his head in one hand, elbow propped up on his knee in sorrow. A dark, fallen prince.

Layers of blue and purple covered the smoke the way the universe filled with galaxies. So much negative space on the surface, distance between wounds and friends and stories, but when you look closely enough, you can see the soul of a person peeking through, see their colors, see their pain. See right through to their very heart.

I smudged that color of Rhysand everywhere that my fingers could manage. Drops fell onto my dress, but I didn’t care. Nesta could yell at me later. By the time my palate was dry, my arms were covered up to my elbows, the sleeves rolled back, like a tattoo made to mark the occasion.

Standing back, a pair of great wings peered out at me through the thick of night I’d painted for Rhys. And when I stepped back even further to move Rhys into the frame, sagging into his hands and knees and all, it was even more magnificent to behold. Triumphant and broken at the same time.

Rhys looked up and I narrowed in on that spec of violet in his eyes, holding onto it like a star sent from Heaven itself to look after me. If I were honest with myself, I’d been staring at those eyes since the moment I’d first met him.

“Stay still,” I whispered. I wiped my hands clean and got a camera out, one of the really nice ones the studio loaned us while we worked, and careful not to get any paint on the lense, I took several pictures of Rhys. The entirety of the backdrop in focus, how the wings changed from different angles not all of them natural, closeups of his face - especially that face.

“You still never answered my question,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tamlin and your sister? I know you trust me. I don’t doubt that. Knowing wouldn’t have changed anything between you and I, only him. So why didn’t you say anything?”

I watched Rhys’s chest swell beneath his tux and hold for a long, lingering moment before it collapsed again. Somewhere between his first words and his last, I set the camera aside and moved closer to him taking a towel along with me. Close enough to touch him again.

“I didn’t say anything because you’d just broken up with Tamlin,” he said, his voice raw. “And I’m not the sort of guy to just jump all over a woman right after a breakup as if she were nothing more than a relationship status for me to occupy. You’re more than that. And,” he stood up, stepping closer. “You loved him. Even though I felt like there was something between us and I couldn’t stop myself from being near you, from wanting you for every second you would spare for me, I wasn’t going to make an ass out of myself by assuming that love you’d had meant so little to you that you’d suddenly want to be with me, especially when I’d given you no reason to.”

“But you did,” I said, my voice grown thick and I grabbed his wrist on instinct, needing the contact. “You gave me ample reason to want you.”

I reached up, dragged my fingers across the paint and indulged in the feel of it smearing through his hair one last time before I began to clean him up with the rag. The touch almost seemed to pain him.

“How are you so wonderful right now? Feyre…”

A tear fell past his guard streaking the paint on his cheek so that it muddied and greyed.

“Do you remember when I told you there was a hole inside of me and I didn’t think I could see the way out of it anymore?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I was wrong. I thought I couldn’t see a way out, but the truth is that I was so miserable and so twisted inside of myself that I went straight to the way out without even realizing what it was.”

Rhys’s brow creased at me in silent question, begging for my explanation that I was heartbroken to think he couldn’t already see.

“You,” I breathed and I smiled as soon as I said it because I was holding the answer in my hands, and oh how he was beautiful and flawed and unendingly necessary to my life now.

“When Tamlin broke up with me and goodness, Nesta had just rung me out to dry, I broke.” It was an effort to say it aloud, but I pushed out every word through the tears blinding me. “I wanted to give everything up and I had no idea where to turn. I was at the bottom of the hole and all I thought I saw was darkness, but I was wrong. I felt more alone than I ever had, but then I was driving myself to your house - to you. You were the one good thing I could think of that hadn’t turned away on me, the only good feeling left in my heart and I clung to it like glue, followed it until I was on your doorstep and you were holding me.

“Rhys - you were my way out. You were my light in the dark. That’s why I love you. You showed me how to live again.” I grabbed both sides of his face firmly, most of it not clear of paint save for the bits around his hairline and the tops of his chest, and held him to me. “Please don’t ever think that you gave me no reason to love you. You gave me a million. And even if I can’t -”

I never got to finish my statement. Rhys’s lips came crashing down on mine no longer able to resist the temptation. And he tasted - oh how he tasted. Like citrus and sea and life all at once.

His lips were soft, moist as they tenderly felt my own, working in a slow haze that burned with a heat we’d both been holding off on for too long. And that heat quickly grew as my tongue cut through my lips and begged him to open for me. I was met with a groan as his lips parted and our arms collided to wrap around each other, to taste and feel and explore everything we could find as he dragged me down onto his lap.

Though our faces remained clean, I could feel the paint transferring between us as I dragged my fingers through his hair, rubbed my stained dress against his chest and jacket. But I didn’t care, couldn’t care. I wanted all of his touches - dirtied and blemished and perfect as they were.

Those touches swept across my neck and into where Nesta had placed the delicate pins keeping the deep blond strands of my hair in place. He pulled them out one by one, chucking them onto the floor when he was finished with them and my hair fell down in waves for his fingers to swim through.

I snapped when his lips left to travel down my jaw and back, back, back to my ear when he nibbled gently on me. I snatched at his waist trying frantically to yank his shirt free and moaned my victory when my hands succeeded, finding the smooth hard expanse of his abs that I further stained with the blues and purples and golds of my earlier handiwork.

“Feyre,” he said into me - my ear, my skin, my entire person.

“Take me home,” I replied automatically. The kisses along my neck stopped so Rhys could look at me seriously.

“Are you sure?”

My reply was to kiss him enthusiastically without question, without restraint. Rhys laughed and scooped me up into his arms marching for the door. “As milady requests.”

Home - I was going home.

We didn’t tell anyone we were leaving. We simply left, no backwards glances. The dance was winding down as it was, handfuls of students trickling through the galleries towards the doors lingering here and there at paintings that caught their eye.

My heart fluttered when I spotted Cassian’s car in the parking lot and realized we had no way home. And then a jingle met my ears.

Rhys held up his keys. “You’re not seriously suggesting we strand them here?” I asked.

“Mor and I had to come by early to go over last minute set-up with the owners. Cass picked us up when we were done so we could all drive together, which means…”

The headlights of his car flashed as Rhys hit the unlock button on his key set. I grinned wildly and ran.

We sped along towards home and I couldn’t stop touching him. Everywhere my fingers trailed along his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch, or where my lips kissed at his ear forcing him to grip the steering wheel harder so he could concentrate - I wanted more, more, more. I was desperate just to feel him.

And it made me realize just how horrible devoid of this kind of intimacy I’d been, not just with Tamlin, but with… anyone. My life had been empty for long time, maybe even before mom had left. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this free, this wild, this much myself - if I’d ever felt like this at all.

“Is your dad home?” I said between kisses. I could feel the muscles in his neck flexing with every touch, trying to keep control.

“He’s… he’s… shit, Feyre - what happened to wanting me to keep my eyes on the road when I drive?.” But the smile that broke over his face said he wanted anything but for me to stop. “He’s out of town on business this weekend. We’ll have the house to ourselves - save for Mor.”

“Mmm,” I purred against his skin. “She sleeps upstairs. That’s okay. I have a feeling she’ll be a while anyway.” My hand ran once up his crotch enjoying the hardness I found there beneath his pants. I licked up the side of Rhys’s neck in response.

“That’s it,” Rhys snapped. The car came to a rough stop in front of his house. He cut the engine and grabbed me. Pounced, was really more like it. He undid both our seat belts and then his body came over me pressing me into the leather seats as he kissed me hungrily, tore his hands my chest to get to the zipper of my dress.

Steam started fogging up the windows in a white sheen we couldn’t see through. It was cold out tonight. Before I wound up with my very own Titanic moment, I pulled Rhys back and urged him, “Inside. Now.”

His lip quivered in amusement. “You do realize what you just -”

“NOW.”

He carried me down the steps to his room - the basement. His room was simpler than I expected, but I would inspect that later. Right now, clothes took precedence over furniture.

“Feyre, Feyre, Feyre,” he murmured at my lips. I grabbed his shirt and pulled and pulled until the buttons had all popped free one by one and I was able to see that glorious chest of his. He was bare save for an intoxicating strip of dark hair on his abdomen that disappeared below his waistline.

“Wait here,” he murmured and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom of his room. I heard the sound of water running and when Rhys came back, his hair was sopping wet, water running down from it over his neck and chest all of which was now completely clean of my paint.

He brought a damp towel with him and gingerly took each of my hands, taking time to clean my skin so that I was in the clear as well. The urgency I’d felt before leaked out of me as Rhys took care of me. I could have stood there forever letting him knead the muscles, taking all of that horrible tension I couldn’t stop carrying out of me.

When he was done, I watched the towel fly back towards its home in the bathroom. And then those violet eyes were on me again.

“Age before beauty,” I teased, beginning to shrug the jacket and then the shirt off him. Rhys grabbed the fabric as I went and tossed it hard to the floor, eyeing me ravenously the entire time.

“If you insist,” he said. He took a step back from me and the shock from losing his touch was enough to make me realize what he was doing - what we were on the brink of doing.

And then... I was left with Rhys standing before me in nothing but his boxers, a beautiful shade of crimson red, with a considerable bulge tenting them in the front.

His body was magnificent, carved out of earth and rock and darkness. His muscles flexed, worked against me as he pulled me into him, his arms wrapping around me until he found that zipper on the back of my dress again and had pulled it down, down, down. I pulled out of my sleeves and the dress fell like a river along my body towards the floor where it pooled into a lake at my feet.

A sharp sensation forced a cry out of me as Rhys’s teeth nipped at my shoulder and I realized his was dragging my bra straps down with them. The heat between our stomachs where we connected sent my body spiraling and I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed all of him, for not a single part of us to no longer be connected for not one second more.

I undid the clasp on my bra and sent it flying heaven knew where. My underwear followed and just as Rhys’s lips parted to say something suggestive, I yanked his boxers down, taking his cock as I did and pushing us back onto the bed where I straddled him.

Rhys cursed as he toppled down and I stroked him. My body rocked over him slightly in time with my motions and Rhys’s eyes trailed over me - the curve of my hips over his own, the fullness of my breasts, the way my neck grew thick with sweat just from watching him writhe on the bed…

My hand gripped him hard, rising slowly up to the head of him where my thumb ran slowly over the tip. I saw Rhys’s back arch off the bed ever so slightly before he shot up. His hands dug into my hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling me towards him fervently, but not so much that it hurt. I moaned into his mouth and that had him flipping me onto my back.

Our bodies pressed flush against one another, heat radiating in all the little pockets where we molded together. The tightness between my legs was becoming unbearable. Rhys felt it as he smuggled between us to dip his finger between me and found a considerable wetness waiting.

“Do it,” I said thinking only of relieving the unbearable heat in my core. “Rhys…” My voice was barely more than a pitiful moan.

He opened the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a small square package which he ripped open with his teeth, taking care not to damage the condom inside. He sat back on the bed and watched me as I watched him, rolling that condom down his cock slowly, one agonizing inch at a time…

“Feyre,” he said lying back down with me. He took my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist as he positioned himself at my entrance. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, please,” I said greedily, pulling against his chest to nudge his hips further up. He grinned wickedly and then he was sliding inside me with intolerable gentleness. And the thick, immense feel of him that greeted the heat in my core sent me past the boiling point. My lips parted in a silent gasp as my fingernails dug in carefully at his back. Rhys mimed a sharp, silent whistle of approval.

He brought one of my legs up at his side, bent at the knee, and held it there against his hip as he made the first thrust. My toes curled with each new movement and we began singing that song between us, the one as old as the stars.

An electric feel pulsed inside me each time our hips collided. He held me with delicate tenderness, that I felt myself drowning in it as he kissed me, as he touched me, and as I touched him everywhere my fingers could go. My free leg wrapped around his lower back to bring him in closer and it sent Rhys’s pace on me into a fast rhythm I could have lived and died to.

“Rhys,” I said as the burning in me built to a crescendo. He saw me on the edge and pressed his hand into my lower back to help my hips up. The slight shift in angles made me clench around him and the primal, guttural noise that ached out of him sent me spiraling.

I came on him and there wasn’t a cry left in me to communicate how exquisite he made me feel. My voice simply cracked, a sharp needle of sound splitting the night in two while Rhys worked into my climax.

“I love you,” I said, gripping him fiercely. His body constricted, clinging to me everywhere, and all I could hear him manage to get out as he came inside me was the fractured, “I love… I love… I love…” of a ruined, ravished man.

His head collapsed onto my chest when we decided at last we were finished. We let our bodies lay there for some time in a shaking, quivering mess before tucking ourselves underneath the sheets.

“I see what you mean,” I said as I snuggled into him.

“About what?”

“If I had known this what you meant would happen if you’d started kissing me - when you said you’d never stop? I’d have kissed you all the way back at Lucien’s party.”

The deep roar of laughter in Rhys’s chest as my head lay over him was music to my ears.

xx

#myfic #beneath the stars #beneath the stars: a feysand fic #bts #feysand #feysand fanfiction #feyre #rhysand #acomaf #acomaf fanfiction

[neon-skies95]

Tagged by @sketchesanddoodlesandthings​

So I’ll tag @artimus-maora​, @spaceferrari​, and @141-point-12​. Do what you will.

Favorite Place: My bed. It’s warm and will never harm me.

Relationship Status: Single. 

Favorite Color: Orange,

Pets: Currently deceased.

Last song I listened to: Keep on Loving you by REO Speedwagon

Favorite TV show: That’s a good question... Generally when I watch something, I rarely re-watch it. I guess Courage the Cowardly Dog then, that’s the one I re-watch the most.

First Fandom: Power Puff Girls and Barbie. That was in the old-time when I was a wee bab.

Hobbies: Playing video games, watching anime and cartoons. It used to be drawing, but that’s kind of my job now.

Books I’m currently Reading: Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Also slowly making my way through Les Miserables by Victor Hugo.

Favorite book: Phoenix: Future by Osamu Tezuka

Name: Mia

Nickname: just use shortened version of my URL, neon. the internet using my real name just feels weird.

Sign: Scorpio.

Height: 5′1″

Sexual Orientation: Asexual

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw. 

Favorite animal: Echidnas. They don’t have boobs so they lactate out their pores. They’re the raddest.

Time right now: 10:10 am.

Average hours of sleep: fuk

Cat or dog person: Dog. If I touch a cat, my throat closes and I run the risk of dying.

Favorite fictional character from Harry Potter: Norbert

Number of blankets you sleep with: ∞

Favorite singer or band: The Protomen. u thought echidnas were the raddest thing holy shit these wonderful ppl are 10x as rad

Dream trip: Tour of Japan. Just roughly half a year to explore the whole country. Learn some shit, buy some shit. The works.

Dream job: Character design for a video game company. I’m currently a level designer and concept artist for video game courses, so I’m getting there.

When was this blog created: long-ass fucking time ago when i was young and dreamed of glory

When did your blog reach its peak: haha wat the fuk is that?

What made you decide to make a tumblr: Most of the links to my OTPs traced back to tumblr and I had some friends already on it, so I figured I’d jump on the bandwagon.

5 things you’ll find in my bag: My laptop, at least 2 different chargers, my tablet, some pencils (most broken), and headphones.

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom: There is no bedroom, only plush toys.

5 things I’ve always wanted to do in life: Sleep all day, play all night, travel the world, learn at least one new language, and be productive. Some of these things contradict the others on this list...

5 things that make me happy: Cartoons, sleeping, plush toys, the cheesiest of music, and good scenery.

5 things I’m currently into: Pokemon, Sherlock Holmes, Transformers, Metal Gear, and sleeping

5 things on my to-do list: Required reading, meetings, finish MGSV, finish Birth by Sleep, speaking of sleep...

5 things people may not know about me: I’m a huge history buff and I like to learn as much as I can about history from different points of view. There are about 4 boxes of plush toys in my permanent home and at least 1 more still in the basement. I was a “Sherlockian” before the BBC show came out, and to this day I still prefer the Granada series. I started my love of Transformers and Pokemon roughly around the same time, and they’ve stuck ever since. Speaking of which, I have 2 other blogs: @thatcleffa (Pokemon) and @djblasterblastinrightatya (Transformers, but also just robots in general).

Rules: Put your music on “Shuffle” List the first 10 songs

(most of my music comes from Spotify, so I’ll just use my biggest playlist and go from there)

1: Bat Out of Hell - Meatloaf

2: Live & Learn: Crush 40

3: Total Eclipse of the Heart - Bonnie Tyler

4: Science Fiction/Double Feature - Richard O’Brien/Rocky Horror Picture Show

5: The Stand (Man or Machine) - The Protomen

6: December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night) - Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons

7: The Trooper - The Protomen (it’s a cover of the original)

8: Flash - The Protomen (also a cover)

9: Opening Ceremony - Bjorn Skifs/Chess

10: Shia LaBeouf Live (Actual Cannibal Shia Labeouf) - Rob Cantor

A - Age: 21

B - Biggest fear: My home going up in flames. C - Current time: 10:45 am. Time flies. D - Drink you last had: Water. Gotta stay hydrated. E - Every day starts with: reluctance F - Favorite song:  Will of the One by The Protomen G - Ghosts, are they real: i mean, they could be H - Hometown: Michigan. That’s a state not a town, but you get the idea. I - In love with: my bed. my one true love. J - Jealous of: Those who can actually draw. Also those who can pet cats. Please stop teasing me for my inability to touch cats. It’s a dick move. K - Killed someone: ur a nosy one arent ya? L - Last time you cried: like, last week. maybe last night. M - Middle name: Frances. N - Number of siblings: 1. Younger brother. O - One wish: infinite wishes. then i can do whatever. P - Person you last called/texted: My future Dungeon Master. We’re starting a one-off campaign this Friday. Q - Questions you’re always asked: Is it Mia or Maya? (when the fuck has it ever pronounced Maya???) R - Reasons to smile: my bed. it’s waiting for me. im coming my darling, just a few more hours...! S - Song last played: Keep on Loving You - REO Speedwagon T - Time you woke up: 8:00 am. Wasn’t technically awake until 8:05 am. U - Underwear color: They have the Avengers on them. V- Vacation destination: This Spring break I’m going to LA! Mostly for business reasons, but it sounds like it’ll be a lot of fun, too! W - Worst habit: I bite the inside of my lip a lot, and I grind my teeth and generally don’t realize it until my jaw hurts or my head aches. The latter is reason for most of my dental issues.

X - X-rays you’ve had: Mouth and arms, and one time my leg.

Y - Your favorite food: I can’t really choose one because if I eat too much of one thing I get sick of it. Oreos, Nutella, and lava cake are currently at the top there.

Z - Zodiac sign: Scorpio.

1. What can’t you sleep without? I sleep a lot easier with at least one plush to hug. 2. What are your favorite kind of socks? I have one pair with cute little Pikachus all over them and another pair with cute little sheep all over them. I try not to wear them when I have to walk a lot so they don’t get holes. 3. What’s your favorite snack/meal/drink? I really like soup... like a lot. Especially if there’s a lot of noodles and meat. It’s generally my go-to if I need a pick-me-up or can’t find anything appetizing on a menu. 4. What’s your favorite kind of weather? Sunny and warm with a hint of a breeze. 5. What do you like to listen to/do to relax and feel better when you’re upset? Get something warm (like soup), and get cuddly in bed with my plushies. Also some Youtube. 6. What’s your favorite store to shop at? Book stores. 7. What color do you wear the most? Red and occasionally dark green. And a surprisingly large amount of black. 8. What’s your favorite (video/board/social/party) game to play? Pokemon.  9. Any guilty pleasures? “One Night in Bangkok”. The song is from the concept album/play Chess, and the song is about an American chess player being a douche in Bangkok. I don’t think we’re supposed to sympathize with him, but it can be pretty cringe-y. It’s very catchy and it’s terrible. 10. If you could go anywhere (in real life or in fiction), where would it be? It would be so rad to go to Destiny Islands from Kingdom Hearts. Preferably as a kid. idk, my current age on an island of kids would be weird.

#neon finally speaks #oh look ive been tagged

[unpopcorned]

.

.

He feels like shit. 

Granted, he’s felt like shit throughout the last two weeks. He hasn’t been out of bed, he hasn’t tried talking to his friends, he’s barely been paying attention in school. Really, he’s just moving through day-to-day life like a robot or something. 

He doesn’t feel like eating. He doesn’t feel like talking. He doesn’t even want to think. He didn’t know something like this could drain him so much. It worse than last time though, way worse. He wasn’t prepared for the rush of heartache he would have to endure this time around, how much more intense and stifling it would be. 

Michael feels stupid. He should’ve known this would happen again, that their entire relationship would only amount to this. Maybe they weren’t meant to be like he’d originally thought. Forever ago, he thought they’d be together until the end of time - get married, have kids, die together. But things change, people change, he guesses. 

Maybe he’s not suited for her anymore. He didn’t do enough, wasn’t there for her enough. When she was going through a hard-time with her mother, he should’ve asked about the situation more. He’s a worthless boyfriend, he didn’t deserve her in the first place. 

Great. He’s crying again. Tears pool behind his eyelids, and fill to the brim. Down his temples, and he lifts an arm to cover his face. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, stupid. That’s all he ever does now when he gets home - cry. Think about her. Lay in bed for hours on end. He hasn’t finished any homework in the last week, even with the semester wrapping up. 

“Michael?” 

His bedroom door creaks open, and his sister hesitantly leans her head inside. She’s dressed for the night, she’ll probably be going out somewhere with her latest boyfriend. When he peeks over at her, he can see she has some type of glittery-shit for eyeshadow and red lipstick. Her expression is worried, she carefully takes a seat on the edge of his bed and touches his arm. 

“It’s Friday.” 

He avoids her eyes, “Yeah, so?” 

“Shouldn’t you...I don’t know - go out with your friends?” 

“Friends.”

“Yeah. Like Ryan. Or Nick. Someone, anybody.” 

“I’m good.” 

“Yeah, well,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes once at him, “Doesn’t seem like it. Are you gonna just lay here and cry like a pussy or somethin’?” Michael gives her a sharp look. It makes her frown, “I”m serious, Michael. Who cares about Josy, honestly? She’s a bitch. And--” 

“Don’t, okay?” His voice is firm, but he's not looking at her anymore, “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Sighing, she stands from the bed and crosses her arms, “Then when’re we gonna talk about it? Your mom’s been asking for you when she calls. She was worried about you before, okay? I’m sick of this shit. Get up and go out.” He’s barely listening to her. And he makes that apparent by rolling onto his side, back facing her. With an irritated mutter underneath her breath, she begins pushing at his shoulder, but he gives no response, “Fine! Cry the entire weekend, see if I care, jerk!” 

She has a tendency to be even more immature than he is. So, he’s not surprised when he hears his bedroom door slam shut. Around ten minutes later, he hears the jiggle of her keys and the clicking of her heels. She’s gone after that. Michael stays in bed.

He dozes off and on throughout the night - sometimes he cries, sometimes he just lays there and stares at the wall. Around one in the morning, that’s when he gets up to use the restroom. The home is pitch-black, he has to feel along the wall to find the light. And when he looks in the mirror, he almost cringes at the sight. Sunken-in eyes, nose a light pink from crying, and his hair is a mess. Besides wasting his time crawling back into bed, he makes an effort to take a shower and redress in something more comfortable ( he’d returned home from school for the day and hadn’t even bothered taking off his hoodie and jeans ). 

He looks a little better when he gets out, and he thinks of eating, only to nearly upchuck when he tries to stomach his aunt’s leftovers from the day before. Not because they’re bad per se, but because he hasn’t been able to find his appetite. Which - would be really bad for someone like him. He forces himself to eat spoonfuls of peanut butter, like some heartbroken girl in a chick flick and sit through a series of infomercials. 

He feels miserable. Sick to his stomach and drained. He’s tempted to go back to sleep, to force himself under the covers and stay there for the entire weekend. But it’s like his aunt said, it won’t solve anything. With that thought in mind, after a half an hour, he stands from the couch and shrugs back on his hoodie. 

He leaves the house. 

Where he’s going, he doesn’t really know. Michael walks almost aimlessly, without a thought in mind. Who cares where he’s going, who cares about him in general, really? He doesn’t even think he cares about himself half the time. His opinions, his thoughts, his looks. Everything, everything was about Josy. That’s what he was, what he always will be - a puppet for her to pull the strings. And he’s alright with that, he thought he could live with that the rest of their lives. As long as he had her, her love and happiness and devotion. He would bear any weight if it meant he could just fucking be with her.

Nothing else had really mattered to him these last few years. Really, he couldn’t remember a time without her. Where she wasn’t holding his hand, right beside him. He remembers - the first thing he thought of in the morning was her, and before he went to bed at night, it was her. He misses her like crazy, even if he’d been the one to end it then and there. But he can’t bring himself to answer the phone when she calls, he can’t stop this surge of nausea in his stomach when he sees her in the halls. Every time he hears her voice, catches a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, it’s like an out of body experience. 

He’d do anything to be with her again. And anything for her to disappear, too. 

Michael thinks that maybe he just misses what they used to have. Or what he thinks they used to have. Maybe he was just looking through it all with rose-colored glasses. Maybe he didn’t even really know the real her. He’d turned a blind eye to all the rumors and his friends’ advice, because in his eyes - she’s perfect, she cannot do any wrong. She’s everything he could ask for and more. And it turns out, none of that was right. 

He was just stupid. He never thinks for himself. He’d let her pull him along because he doesn’t know much else, because there is no Michael without Josy. That’s how it’s always been. For him, for the people around him. 

He hates it. He hates himself. He wishes he had more guts. More drive to take the initiative and--

When he blinks, something passes behind his eyelids. An image, a very familiar one. Without thinking, his fingers lift and brush against his bottom lip, linger there. He doesn’t think, he just moves. Because why think it over, he’ll just hesitate and convince himself not to. 

He takes the train, there’s no one on but a few drunk teenagers and a bum. Michael keeps to himself, nestles his headphones over his ears and tries not to second-guess himself. His stop comes sooner than he’d prefer, his nerves were fraying. And his gut was twisting up. He wants to turn around, to forget the thought even went through his mind. But he already knew that was impossible. 

He knows the way there by heart now. Probably because over the course of the school year, the two of them had grown closer while Josy and himself had distanced. He couldn’t blame that on anyone though, he can’t blame Josy or other people for the end of their relationship. 

He hesitates on the corner of the street, feet planted on the sidewalk. Teeth sunk into the corner of his bottom lip, tugging anxiously. He lifts his hands, removes the headphones from his ears. And then he’s moving, one foot in front of the other. Michael practically forces himself to, and in the end, he’s in front of the door. 

He knocks. Waits for maybe two seconds. Knocks again. He’s just about to do it a third time when the lock is twisted and the door opens. He looks up, and his eyes meet Sean’s. The two of them stare at one another for an extended amount of time. At first, Michael doesn’t know what to say, his tongue suddenly feels heavy and rooted to the top of his mouth. 

Sean speaks first, “Hey.” 

“...hi.” 

It’s almost refreshing to see him. Over the past two weeks, he’s gone out of his way to avoid his friend circle. Because he didn’t know if he was ready to talk to them. Especially Sean. To look at him and get that surge of pure emotion from before made him feel like shit, maybe him feel as if everything had shifted around him. Maybe Josy had felt that too, some type of change in him that he couldn’t explain. That only really Sean could evoke. 

“You okay?” Sean is still staring at him carefully. His voice is a comfort, really. And Michael feels his shoulders slightly relax, hands shifting to tuck into his pockets nervously.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“It’s two in the mornin’.” 

Michael makes a bit of a face, “Uh - yeah, sorry. I know. I just--” He just what? He’d wanted to see him, maybe. To hear his voice. Even when everything about him makes Michael feel so strange. He swallows, looks down, “You wanna go for a walk?” 

Sean’s eyebrows lift, he looks almost vaguely amused now, “A walk.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah, man. Gimme a minute.” 

The door is cracked, left a few inches open so that Michael doesn’t feel completely shut out. Sean is only gone for maybe three minutes before he’s back, shoes and jacket on, hands shoved into his pockets as he steps outside. When the door is closed behind him, he looks towards Michael again, “C’mon.” 

Sean knows the area a lot better than him. So, Michael follows him. They cut through a small section of woods, and Michael has to careful maneuver over fallen trees and pieces of trash. They get to this park he’s never been to before, there’s a bench under a tree that looks as if it’s seen better days. And Michael takes a seat before Sean does, anything to be off his feet for a few minutes. He still feels as shitty as earlier, not even Sean’s presence could help with that. 

Probably because he hadn’t really ate anything for the last few days. 

Sean stretches from beside Michael, he can’t help but wonder if he’d interrupted his sleep. Or maybe he’d already been up. Times like this, he wishes he knew more about Sean’s life. Michael stays quiet, and so Michael leans his elbows against his thighs to get a better look at his face. 

“Hope you don’t do this often or anythin’.” 

“What?” 

“Take fuckin’ random walks in the middle of the night. “

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” 

“It’s cool,” A pause, Michael is very aware that Sean keeps staring at him. His voice is quieter when he speaks again, as if he wants only Michael to hear, even with them being alone, “You doin’ okay?” 

Michael opens his mouth immediately to tell him yes. Because that’s what he’s been telling everyone. Even when he feels as if he may overfill, even when he feels as if he needs to scream. He still says he’s okay - to his mom, to his friends, to everyone. Because who wants to hear his problems, who really cares about them? 

But Sean is staring at him, expression open. Waiting, patient. As if he really cares, as if he really wants to know. Not because of what happened with Josy, but in general. And Michael is a little weak to that, “...no. I don’t think so.” 

Sean’s face falls a little. He’s still staring at him. 

“I just - everyone’s been asking if I’m okay. Ever since...you know, they wanna know if I’m handling it okay. I mean, fuck’s sake, everyone’s heard, right? Everyone at school knows that we...that she...” He shrugs his shoulders helplessly, he doesn’t look at Sean, “It’s worse that everyone knows, ‘cause it - it’s like they all know I couldn’t...” 

He stops there. Presses his lips together. This is what he was afraid of - if he speaks too much, everything will spill out of him uncontrollably and he won’t be able to take it back. He shouldn’t feel so afraid of that. He guesses it’s a little hard to accept change, he’s been bottling it up for so long that he doesn’t know how else to do it. Being with Sean though, he makes it a little easier. 

He exhales, rubbing the palm of his hands against his sweats, “Fuck it. Not like it matters anymore, right? I mean, I tried so hard to like - to make her happy and...none of that worked. None of it. She just threw it all away, it’s like I didn’t even matter. I was with her for so long and...” 

Sean doesn’t try to stop him. And Michael finally looks up to meet his eyes. They’re surprisingly hard, but focused. Never stray from his face. As if he’s asking more out of him. Michael stares back, his eyes are burning now. 

“I just wish I was enough. For her. I was in love with her. But I don’t think she loved me.” 

And that hurts to know. Fucking hurts so much to say it out loud. Because he kind of knew it all along, and so did everyone else. That Josy didn’t love him like he loved her. She loved him in a fucked-up type of way, dragged on and bruising. He hated it, he hates her. Or at least, he wants to. He keeps returning to her like some idiot, like every argument wasn’t another nail in the coffin. Like she was going to change, like he was going to change her. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels Sean’s hand on his cheek, his thumb swiping across his cheek before falling away. Michael doesn’t let him, he grasps his hand in both of his. The warmth is comforting, something desperately needed. And he has no intention of letting go, he makes that apparent by pressing his face into his palm, eyes sliding shut.

It’s quiet between them. 

After a couple moments, his eyes lift. Sean is already studying him closely. When Michael’s grip loosen around his hand, his fingers curve around his jaw, thumb pressed softly against his bottom lip. And Michael can’t help himself, he kisses his thumb, his palm. Presses deeper, lips brush against his wrist, and then Sean is leaning in. And they’re kissing. Michael is the one leaning into it harder, opening his mouth along his and kissing him deeper than any of the other times. 

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say through it. Too much all at once. It hurts some, because his fucked-up heart is thrumming, practically alight underneath his skin. Bruising his ribs. He grows greedy, uses both hands to touch Sean’s face, underneath his jaw and then to the back of his neck, threading into his hair. 

When they part, they’re both out of breath. Michael’s eyes are still stinging, “...sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Sean’s hand is on his thigh, heavy and warm. It’s nice that he keeps touching him, but also a little too much at first. He feels as if he’s going to overload or something already, “Here.” Sean lifts his arm, and Michael takes the hint and moves closer. He tucks underneath his arm, pressed to his side, leaning his head to his shoulder. 

They sit there for awhile longer. Michael doesn’t really want to move, like - at all. He wouldn’t mind staying here for awhile. For forever. But unfortunately, the real world catches up with them in a hurry, and his stomach growls. Loud - very, very loud. 

Sean sounds close to laughter when he speaks, “What the fuck was that?” 

“My stomach,” Michael wants to crawl into a fucking hole, “I ain’t ate anything.” 

“Shit. We should get somethin’ in ya’ then.” 

Sean stands quickly, and Michael immediately misses the warmth. He looks up, watches him for a moment while he takes a look around. After awhile, he’s following after him, standing as well. 

“I know a good place, few blocks up.” 

Michael glances at his face, Sean looks very relaxed, “...okay.”

Together, they end up at a diner a few blocks up the road. At first, Michael takes a seat on the opposite booth, but after a moment of thinking, he switches seats and decides to slide in next to Sean. Michael is very aware that their shoulders are touching at this point, but he doesn’t try to scoot away to create space between them again. 

That’s the last thing he wants. 

He’s a little stiff though, back straight. Self-consciously, he pulls his headphones from around his neck and places them on the table. He’s not sure what to say, not after practically breaking down in front of the guy. What ever tempted him to do so, he doesn’t know - and a part of him doesn’t really regret it either. Michael keeps his eyes on his menu when they’re handed over, once again he’s reminded of just how hungry he is. 

“I’ll pay,” Sean says from beside him, Michael looks over at him.

“I can pay--” 

“It’s cool.” 

The two of them order their food - hopefully a burger will be enough to suffice his hunger, but he doubts it. Still, he didn’t want to blow through whatever money Sean had. Shuffling his hands underneath the table, he wipes his palms against his thighs. He’s nervous, that’s very apparent in the way he keeps glancing at Sean out of the corner of his eye. 

Two minutes pass, maybe. Michael opens his mouth, “I”m sorry--” 

“I just--” They both speak at the same time, and it’s silent again. Michael’s neck feels warm, Sean looks as if he wants to smile, “Y’can go first.”

“...I wanted to say sorry. For...crying on you and everything.” The last person he wanted to throw all his heartache on was Sean. Especially the last person he wanted to see him cry. But he keeps that to himself, “Just - sorry.” 

“Michael,” he looks up at his name, “S’not like I blame you or anythin’. You’re okay, I swear.” Vaguely, Michael nods - he never really noticed that Sean’s eyes were this pretty. Or maybe he did, and he’s been trying to block out that thought for the last year. 

It’s quiet again, “You can go now,” Michael tells him. 

“Oh, yeah. I was just gonna say that - it’s nice talkin’ to you, y’know? Feels like it’s been forever.” 

Yeah. Michael knows the feeling. The two weeks had gone by in a blur, but also seemed to drag on at the same time. It just made the festering scab over his heart worse. Some days, he hadn’t had the guts to even show up to school. Much less talk to anyone. Tomorrow, he’ll have to call Nick to hang out, apologize to him. He knows his sudden silence had bothered him the most, the two of them are the closest out of the group.

“I mean, it’s just - you weren’t really talkin’ to anybody. I was worried.” 

Michael makes a soft noise underneath his breath, “I wasn’t really...thinking.” 

“Yeah.” A pause, “I missed ya’, is all.” 

He stays silent at first, but he’s very aware of Sean’s body heat - bleeding into him almost, “...you did?” 

“Yeah. A lot.” 

Michael is tempted to say he’d missed him as well. Hell, he’d missed him this entire school year. Since they’d kissed the first time. He’s always been thinking of him, missing him when he was only a foot or so away at all times. Their friend circles were pretty close, so if anything, it’s harder to avoid Sean than anyone else. It’s weird to be so close to someone physically, but feel so far away at the same time. He can’t help but wonder if Sean felt like that, too. 

Michael doesn’t say anything though, he’s never really been good with his words. Instead, he reaches over, hesitates, and then his fingers are shyly brushing over Sean’s knuckles. Sean gives no outward reaction, besides the slight tensing of his shoulder and the downward flicker of his eyes. His skin is startlingly warm, and Michael almost pulls away, but this time - Sean’s fingers clasp around his own and hold tight. 

They stay like that through the rest of the night. Even when their food comes. 

.

.

#michael #writings #pda / #cheating /

[phawareglobal]

Kathleen Sheffer Transcript

For former PH patient, Kathleen Sheffer, writing has become a tool for her to process her heart-lung transplant and the events leading up to it. Kathleen candidly shares her experience post transplant. You can also follow her journey through her blog "Rose Colored Mask" on the phaware website.

  My name is Kathleen Sheffer and I'm from San Francisco, California.

I was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension when I was six years old. On July 1st, I received a heart-lung transplant. We talk about transplantation as the only cure for pulmonary hypertension, and while I no longer have pulmonary hypertension now, it's really more like trading one chronic illness for another. Transplant comes with a lot of risks, just the procedure itself and then there's also the risk of rejection, which never goes away. In addition to that, there's risk of infection with lifelong immunosuppression. You're really balancing rejection and infection for the rest of your life.

My goal was always to beat PH and to live long enough for them to find a cure, and maybe a medication that would reverse the effects of the disease. For 16 years I sought the most aggressive therapies. I saw multiple specialists. I exercised as much as I could and just tried to live a normal life while I waited for the cure. Some people have asked how I made the decision to go forward with a transplant. I had questions myself. I didn't know when the right time would be. I worried that I wouldn't be able to have a transplant in the window where I was healthy enough to have the surgery, but sick enough to qualify to be eligible for a transplant.

When it came down to it, it didn't feel like much of a choice. On May 19, 2016, I woke up with a cough. I started wheezing and eventually spit something up. I went to the bathroom and discovered that I was holding blood in my hand. I was visiting a friend in Seattle, and as I sprayed blood all over her toilet seat she called 911. Two ambulance rides and three hospital rooms later, I learned that this event, what they called massive hemoptysis, was a serious progression of my PH. I was lucky to have survived it, and they said I was unlikely to survive another event.

I'd been dreading transplant for years. It was always the "when all else fails" option, but when my doctor called my mom, who then relayed his message to me, saying that it was time for me to be listed for transplant, I felt surprisingly calm. I was lucky that they recognized the window, and I was listed for a transplant 14 days after my hemoptysis. 28 days later, I received a call offering me a new heart and lungs. They came just in time. I wish this were always the case. I've watched too many friends lose their battle with pulmonary hypertension while waiting for a transplant. In the United States, an average of 22 people die each day waiting for a transplant.

I've heard a lot of patients who are considering transplant worrying about the statistics. Centers are required to provide patient survival data, so for me, looking at spreadsheets that only list outcomes as far as 10 years post-transplant made it a pretty unappealing option, especially at 23 years old. But PH patients know that life expectancy numbers are meaningless. Doctors predicted that I wouldn't live to be nine years old. Even after I proved that wrong, they predicted that I would not live to graduate high school. My parents set up a college savings account for me anyway, and I graduated UC-Berkeley in May 2015. I plan on continuing to beat the odds, now with a new heart and lungs.

Even though this experience has been filled with a lot of pain, irritability, confusion, and anxiety, I'm really grateful to know what it's like to live with a healthy heart and lungs. The first time that I became breathless with exercise, stopped, and then caught my breath, I cried happy tears of joy. With PH I would have to stop after walking a block or two, and then when I eventually continued on I would still be breathless and stop even more frequently. Now, every time I get off the train I take the stairs instead of the escalator, and it feels great.

What's been really helpful for me has been reading memoirs of other patients who have gone through similar procedures. I read a book by the first heart-lung transplant recipient. Her description of her experience helped me be able to communicate mine and feel okay about the feelings that I was having about the confusion and the guilt. In multiple memoirs that I've read, patients will express that they feel like they were unworthy of the transplant, and that they don't have the appropriate amount of gratitude.

When I'm sitting on my couch at home and I'm debating going out for a hike, I'll usually motivate myself by thinking someone died so that I could go on this hike. I'm laughing about it now but it's the truth. You live every day knowing that someone else gave their heart and lungs so that I could be here today. You still are in a lot of pain, and it's still really difficult. You are living with chronic immunosuppression. I have multiple appointments a week still. Being able to read that other patients go through the same set of emotions where you're following like you need to be the poster child of organ transplantation and encourage people to register to be donors ... because of course you want that, but at the same time I feel like I need to speak for others and show the bad with the good.

When I talk to people on the street and they hear that I had a heart-lung transplant, they'll say, "Congratulations." One woman called me a walking miracle over and over again. It's a lot of pressure. Some days I just want to be 23 and be upset about my appearance or whatever I'm worried about at that time.

Reading these accounts by other patients who have gone before me has been really helpful, so I started writing partly as a way to process it and give a timeline to what's happened. Writing it down makes it make more sense in my head. At the same time, it's been really rewarding to be able to describe what I'm going through and have other patients tell me that they felt the same way, or thank me for sharing, writing about this experience, because often they don't feel like they can talk about it.

It's been really helpful for me to get positive feedback from parents or other patients who have gone through transplantation, and to hear that my story resonates with them. It has helped me build community and connect with people who are across the country. Probably the most meaningful to me has been the mother of another PH patient who had a transplant. She thanked me for sharing how I felt.

I count things by week now. I have on my calendar 18 weeks post-transplant. I also have 200 days and 100 days, and I'm constantly keeping track of how far post-transplant I am. It really was striking, the difference between, say, 20 days post-transplant and then 40 days post-transplant, or one month post-transplant and two months post-transplant. Now I'm four months post-transplant, and the changes have been just mind-boggling: the fact that I can run today, and four months ago I couldn't walk around a block.

Time works really differently now. To know that 23 days post-transplant I was finally released from the hospital and I weighed 30 pounds heavier than I should have in water weight. I felt like I would never be feeling this great. To look back and see how good I'm feeling today and all that I'm able to do, and then think back to it was really just three months ago when I was feeling miserable and confused.

I know that when I was in the hospital, I tried to remember how bad I felt then. Because I knew I would feel better later, but I wanted to ... people kept saying, "Think big picture," and that this was the worst of it. But when I was there in the worst of it I really wanted to remember just how terrible it was. Because it seemed like I had to fight through every single minute and every hour. It just took so long to recover. Now it's literally only been four months, and feeling like this, it was totally worth it just to go through that. Looking back, it was just one bad month, really. It felt like a year, but I'm glad that I kept fighting through it. There was a lot of times when I just had to think of something else or put on my headphones and listen to really loud music. I would listen to Twenty One Pilots because it was the angriest band that I could think of.

Being able to exercise has always been one of the things that I wanted most in life. I come from a family that loves to exercise, and I would always be standing there waiting while they went up and down stairs. My sister and my mom would run up and down stairs, and just love the workout. Now I'm able to, and stairs actually suck. It's still hard to exercise, but I'm really grateful to be able to do this. I don't know. It's just pretty cool.

Yesterday I went to Sutro Baths in San Francisco. You have to go down tons and tons of stairs and then walk back up them. I was carrying a backpack of camera equipment and a light stand. I had done it months ago before my transplant, and I had to stop along the way over and over again. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done, so I swore I'd never go back to that spot. But it's a beautiful spot, so every wedding photographer ends up taking their bride there usually. We went there yesterday and I just did all of the stairs, walked up all of them without stopping. When I got to the top I was just thrilled. I had to tell someone, like, "Four months ago I couldn't walk around a block and I just did all those stairs." That's pretty cool.

It's been interesting, my sister is two years younger than I am, and when I was diagnosed at age six, she was four. Mostly, my experience with PH was my parents and I would go to appointments. I was gradually learning about the disease and how to care for my own medications. For the most part, she wasn't a huge part of it. She was younger, so most of what she knew was that my parents and I would have to leave and go to hospitals, and she would stay at home with a friend. She knew that I couldn't keep up with her if she went on a run. It's been interesting now because she's having a hard time adjusting, actually, to us being an exercising family and me being able to keep up with her. Because for so long she had to slow down and make sure that she wasn't going too fast for me. Now we can exercise together, which is fun, but a bit of an adjustment for her.

It was really nice having the transplant at 23 with her being 21. She was there throughout the procedure and my hospitalization afterward, and was really an important part of my care team. To be able to have her, in addition to my parents and friends, was really nice. You spend a lot of time with your caregivers post-transplant. You get pretty close to them. Being able to have my sister, who's one of my best friends and around my age, to be there, it's nice to have someone younger to talk to, and nice for my parents as well to have her as sort of relief.

It's a lot of work for one person to do, so I've been lucky to have friends. Friends have spent the night with me when my parents wanted to take one night off. They won't let you get a transplant unless you prove that you have a support system. It's really a lot of work for anyone.

I don't know if I conveyed it enough. A lot of people have said, "Oh, I should wait until I go into, like, a crisis before being listed for a transplant." Should they wait till they have something like I had? I had hemoptysis. I didn't really think that I was going to survive that, so for me, it was good that I had doctors that I trusted. When they said it was time for my transplant, then I just believed them and did it. It is a really scary thing. When I was in the darkest part of it, I was convinced that no one should go through this and no one should try to have a transplant, but my recovery was, in retrospect, really fast. I feel great today and I'm just really grateful that I did take the plunge and had doctors who advocated for me to be listed at priority, and to recognize that window.

I'm Kathleen Sheffer, and I'm aware that I'm rare!

Listen to “I’m Aware That I’m Rare: the phaware™ podcast” at www.phaware.global/podcast. Learn more about pulmonary hypertension at www.phaware.global. #phaware #phawarepod

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#pulmonary hypertension #phaware #rare disease #lung disease #clinical trials #podcast #PH #asthma